BR-USA: The Survival Program in America
by WTalespinner
Summary: Following the capture of Shuya Nanahara by an american Black Ops unit in 2007, and in the wake of the violent quelling of a peaceful protest in front of the Tweed Courthouse in NYC, the BR Act is secretly passed in the United States, and a Queens Middle School is sent to a remote island, where they're forced to fight for their lives.
1. PROLOGUE

**AUTHOR'S NOTE –**

 **Before this story begins, I wish to stress that in no way does this material reflect any manner of personal opinion I may have towards the educational systems of the United States and Japan, nor the ethnic minorities and spiritual callings that some of the characters in this story represent. Further, I do not and will never actively encourage violent, unwarranted reprisals of any kind against students and/or educators.**

 **This is not meant to inspire incitements. IT IS ONLY A STORY, AND A THANKFULLY FICTIONAL ONE AT THAT.**

 **This story…which, unlike my previous stories, does NOT have any transformation-related content…is, by design, similar to the feature film adaptation of the controversial japanese novel written by author Koushun Takami. If certain elements of the depicted BR program bears similarities to the first film, that was a conscious decision.**

 **Characters created by Takami, and those created in the film sequel written by Kenta Fukasaku and Norio Kida, remain the rightful properties of those writers.**

* * *

 **2000**

 **Japan** **'s economy has plummeted.**

 **Unemployment is at 15%, and over  
** **800,000 students boycott their  
** **educational system.**

 **The government responds with the passing  
of an Educational Reform initiative dubbed  
"the BR Act".**

 **Once every school year, a Middle School  
class is randomly selected to spend three  
** **days on an abandoned island, and  
** **participate in the "Battle Royale".**

 **Only one student out of the entire class  
can emerge as the winner of this  
annual Survival Program.**

 **The alternative is that no one survives at all.**

 **In the year 2000, the two surviving students  
** **of the Shiroiwa Middle School BR Program  
** **become wanted fugitives.**

 **Their names are Shuya Nanahara,  
** **and Noriko Nakagawa.**

 **2003**

 **Government buildings in Japan are destroyed in  
a coordinated bombing, to which a terrorist  
organization called the "Wild Seven" claims  
responsibility.**

 **That same year, the BR II Act becomes the means  
by which the government responds. A Middle  
School class is selected to serve as an armed task  
force, and are charged with eliminating  
the Wild Seven's leader, Shuya Nanahara.**

 **Upon discovering that the terrorists are  
mostly made up of Battle Royale  
survivors, the students switch sides.**

 **Following a joint US-Japan bombing of  
the group's island stronghold, Shuya  
Nanahara and his wife, Noriko  
Nakagawa, remains at large.**

 **2007**

 **The Great Recession in the United States has a  
crippling effect on the educational system.**

 **Incidents of school violence rise, and a protest  
by students of all grade levels outside  
the Tweed Courthouse in NYC  
turns deadly as riot police attempt  
to quell the lingering disorder  
by force.**

 **56 students are killed.**

 **In response, Japanese diplomats offer  
their educational reform to the United  
States Congress.**

 **Hoping to avoid media backlash,  
the BR Act is secretly ordained.**

 **One month following the act's  
secret implementation, Wild Seven  
terrorist Shuya Nanahara is found  
and captured alive following a violent  
shootout with american soldiers  
in Zaranj, Afghanistan.**

 **Noriko Nakagawa remains at large.**

* * *

 **PROLOGUE: The Last Stand**

 _"We've only just begun to fight, right? Don't stop. Keep on fighting!"_

 _\- Mitsugu Sakai, "Battle Royale II: Requiem"_

 **\- ZARANJ, AFGHANISTAN, 7:00 A.M.**

Boy #1, Takuma Aoi. Girl #1, Nao Asakura. Girl #3, Kyoko Kakei. Girl #13, Mayu Hasuda. Girl #8, Risa Shindo. Boy #5, Haruya Sakurai.

Formerly students of Shikanotoride Junior High School in Japan, and members of a class conscripted to serve as soldiers for the Japanese government's Millenium Anti-Terrorism Act, in response to acts of terror perpetrated by the "Wild Seven" terrorist group.

Kakei was the first to go. The young child she had been entrusted to protect was taken alive by the masked, armored soldiers that slipped in under cover of darkness, concealed through their all-black trappings.

News of her death rattled Takuma to the core. It was a reaction the soldiers in black had counted on, having read up on the files of these dangerous youths.

Although they had gone their separate ways following the destruction of the island fortress of the Wild Seven, the task force traced Aoi to the current location of the terrorist leader who had made the Most Wanted list in the wake of the bombings in Tokyo and Shinjuku.

Shuya Nanahara.

The task force was to take him alive. The rest were expendable.

When they picked their time to strike, half the task force were cut down in the violent firefight that drove Shuya and his allies into a bunker.

Risa noticed that, despite the buzz of the bullets and the loud bangs and explosions, Haruya was smiling as he cradled his AK-47, securing himself behind a hardpoint.

"Haru?" a look of puzzlement was on Girl #8's face. "What is it?"

The bearded Haruya angled his eyes to the class president, still grinning. "Mordechai." He thoughtfully began. "The same thing happened to Mordechai."

Risa frowned. "Mordechai?"

Another loud explosion. Nao briefly exposed herself to squeeze off a spray of bullets from her own Kalashnikov. She was able to press herself back behind her hardpoint without getting hit.

"Mordechai Anielewicz." Haruya responded. "He led a group just like ours in Poland when the Nazis oppressed them. They fought those fuckers right to the end!"

Mayu took a round to her shoulder, and a bullet grazed her forehead. She screamed in agony as she dropped to the ground. Despite the pain, she began scrambling to another hardpoint.

Another barrage of bullets, however, finished her off. A gargle of her own blood spewed forth from her mouth before she stopped moving.

" _Mayu!_ " Risa partially exposed herself to squeeze off a vengeful barrage of her own. The bullets from the black-clad soldiers forced her back against the wall beside her hardpoint.

Haruya kept talking to himself, quietly, continuing the memories from his history class. One of the few times he actually paid attention to his history teacher as he explained the events of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.

"They got cornered in a bunker. Just like ours." His eyes boggled. His grin was unsettling as he gazed to Risa. "They fought to the last."

The muttering went unheeded by the soldiers in black. They could not make out a word of what they were saying, anyway.

Because none of them were Japanese.

"He fought to the last." Haruya tightened his grip on the AK. "Mordechai. Mira." He knew there was no surviving this. "Saki."

His last thoughts were of his sister, who died fighting in the last stand at the Wild Seven's island fortress.

He had already made up his mind. It was his turn now.

"TO THE FUCKING LAST!" He suddenly screamed.

Exposing himself, his full-clip burn stitched up a soldier who had unwisely chosen to advance. The black-clad soldier went down in a bloody heap as his comrades exposed to fire back.

Risa chose to come out and fire wildly as well as Nao watched in horror, and then hurried away, running towards where she knew Takuma had gone.

The bullet of a sniper that had positioned himself a few yards away took the shot that crunched through Haruya's skull, ending his life. Risa's bullet-riddled body dropped right next to him.

The tunnels in the bunker were long, and dimly lit as Nao continued her progress, going as fast as she could as she heard the soldiers advance through the tunnels far behind her.

 _One last time._ Nao thought to herself as she ran. _Just one last time, let me be with him. Let me fight with him._

The tunnels continued curving to the right and to the left. Eventually, she saw a pair of human-shaped shadows heading towards a bright light at the end of the tunnel.

As she got closer, she recognized one of the figures as Takuma. The man next to her had to be Shuya.

"TAKU!" She screamed, quickening her pace as the two men stopped and turned. "They're…"

Shots cut through her body like warm knives through butter. Takuma gazed in horror as Nao went down screaming, both in pain and in rage, as she burned through the rest of her clip at the soldiers closing in behind her.

Human figures, armed with weapons and clad in black trappings, suddenly blocked out much of the light at the end of the tunnel.

A three-shot burst aimed at Nao's head eliminated her once her AK-47's clip emptied. No one fell to her vengeful barrage.

Shuya turned his head to Nao with an expression of horror as Takuma screamed…and right at that moment, the Wild Seven's leader felt the sting of a dart, and his senses quickly began to weaken.

The faceless soldiers then surged from both sides upon Takuma and Shuya as the latter dropped to the ground. One grabbed Boy #1's weapon as a second slammed the butt end of his rifle hard against the back of Takuma's neck, sending him to the ground. Despite the pain, Takuma felt his wrists being brought together behind him, and a strong plastic cord wrap tightly around them, binding them together.

The soldiers spoke a language Takuma could not understand when they were both brought out out of the tunnels and into the bright sunlight. He heard a chopper nearby. When his vision stabilized, he saw that it was a UH-60 Blackhawk.

This particular Blackhawk, however, had american markings.

As Takuma was brought down to his knees, he watched the faceless soldiers carry Shuya's unconscious body to the chopper. He couldn't help but wonder why they wanted him alive.

Once the soldiers in black had the Wild Seven's leader secure inside the Blackhawk, its rotors picked up speed, eventually lifting the helicopter into the skies.

Takuma's thoughts were of summoning up an effort to rescue Shuya as the chopper disappeared into the skies. Somehow get enough help and support to be able to do something.

One of the soldiers stepped behind Boy #1, and a loud bang behind Takuma's head interrupted his thinking. Everything suddenly went black.


	2. I: Good Morning, Class

**I: Good Morning, Class**

 _"_ _But, no matter how crazy the world became, we all managed to have fun."_

 _\- Shuya Nanahara, "Battle Royale"_

 **OZONE PARK, NY – 6:00 A.M.**

 **WILD SEVEN LEADER CAPTURED  
** _Japanese terrorist mastermind found and  
_ _apprehended in Afghanistan_

Issac Meyer adjusted his reading glasses as he began reading the story in his newspaper regarding the capture of Shuya Nanahara and his friends. He was typically among the first of the students of his homeroom class to arrive in the morning, having been driven in by his mother as per their morning routine. The volume of the class chatter began to rise as other students entered the room.

Hamid Ranganathan, his friend from Dubai who always neatly combed his head of short black hair with a part to one side, peered over Issac's shoulder curiously.

Issac kept his eyes on the article as he spoke. "That's a bit rude, you know."

Hamid flashed a grin as he clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hey, boss." He then gestured towards the article. "So…dey got him, yes?"

"Yep. One campaign promise fulfilled, it seems." Issac mused, with a hint of regret. "Not that it changes how I feel about that walking embarrassment who bought his way into the White House."

Hamid nodded. "Yes, yes. Lots of people, dey are not liking him."

The buzz-haired, hawk-nosed student wearing the white _kippah_ …this one decorated with science equations…turned to his smiling friend, meeting his wide eyes with an inquisitive stare as he leveled a skinny index finger towards Hamid. "But how do _you_ feel about him?"

The olive-skinned young man just shrugged quietly, still smiling.

Issac smirked. "You need to work on your sense of conviction, Mister Ranganathan."

Issac's attention was distracted to another pair of eyes looking towards him, beneath which was a smile decorated with an array of braces. The pudgy, sweet-faced girl was waving to him in greeting.

Issac waved back, nodding. "Hello, Miss Turmell. How are you this morning?"

The plus-sized young student known as Margaret Turmell gave the question a playful bit of thought, and then shrugged, still grinning like a coquette. "I'm okay!"

Issac nodded. He knew she had a crush on him, and he felt that if she finally brought up the nerve to ask him out on a date, he would accept just to see if there was anything more to the admittedly sweet young girl than just romance. Her braces forced her to speak with a slight lisp, but Issac found that it added to Margaret's charm.

He didn't want to be the one to break the ice, however. Even if that was what she was hoping he would do one day.

Annabeth Grant was also engrossed in her own copy of the morning newspaper as she stepped into the classroom, and her best buddy Valerie Chung was at her hip, gazing upon the very same headline Annabeth had her eye on.

 **"** **NO BATTLE ROYALE IN U.S.", GRANT CONFIRMS  
** _President insists that the controversial japanese  
_ _educational reform act will never be considered_

"Headlines like that make me nervous." Valerie remarked. "I mean…why bother printing it if it's a dead issue, y' know?"

Annabeth shrugged. "Bad news sells papers."

"But nothing's been said about a response to…you know, the 56." Valerie countered, her tone a little more discreet. "Your dad's supporters are screaming for school reform, too."

Annabeth…whose shoulder-length brown hair came down in softly-curled waves…picked up on the fearful tone in her best friend's voice as she spoke. "You may be worrying over nothing, you know. It was on the news yesterday that the riot cops who fired those shots are due to be dragged before a judge. Personally? I think they'll hang for what they did, and I don't think they'll start sending classes off to play deathmatches over it. You said it yourself, Val. It was meant to be a peaceful demonstration, right?"

Valerie was hesitant to answer as the two girls settled into their desk seats. "It…wasn't as peaceful as I would have _wanted_ it to be. I mean…a few fights broke out before the shooting started. Really bad fights, too."

Annabeth placed a hand on Valerie shoulder consolingly. "Relax. School year's almost over, the class trip is tomorrow…there's a lot of good things worth looking forward to."

Although Valerie nodded, a part of Annabeth's chinese-american friend remained visibly worried. She knew that it was a senior class trip that served as a proven ruse for Japan's Battle Royale program. She couldn't feel completely relieved about the class trip until they actually got to where they were supposed to go, rather than wake up on an island with a collar bomb around their necks.

But there was one thing Annabeth needed to correct. "By the way, Val…I may technically be related to…well, you-know-who…" She gestured to a picture of President Anderson U.S. Grant. "…but I'd rather not be reminded about it. That's a part of my life I'd rather forget."

"Oh…right. Sorry." Valerie responded. "How's your mom doing, by the way?"

"She's okay." Annabeth answered. "Although she's just as nervous as you are about that reform thing."

Her peripheral vision picked up on another familiar, short-haired face that was making his way through the students towards his seat, ignoring everyone as he walked. Someone who was good enough to help her with tutoring in Math, a subject she had been struggling through. Once he began to pass her desk, she rose up to block his path with a pleasant and appreciative smile on her face.

"Hi, Walter!" Annabeth chimed, startling Walter Abilene and earning his full attention. "Hey…I wanted to thank you for last week's tutoring. Mr. Gebaide sprung a pop quiz on us yesterday. Thanks to you, I might have aced it."

Walter nodded, his expression still neutral. "When do you find out for sure?"

"This afternoon." Annabeth replied. "It's my first period after lunch."

Another nod from her afterschool tutor. "So you're not doing the 'Senior Cut-Out Day' thing?"

Annabeth shrugged. "I thought about it, but old man Gebaide said he'd fail anyone who skips out on his class, and I need that good grade to graduate."

"Want me to scalp that ol' fucker for you?"

The cheery inquiry came from behind Walter, and Annabeth knew exactly who the raven-haired young student was upon hearing her. It was Moriah Houk, flashing her perky smile as she regarded Annabeth from over Walter's right shoulder. She glanced to the young student in front of her and gave him a nudge. "Hi, Walt! So when you gonna ask ol' Annie-beth out on a date?"

A little startled over the bluntness of her inquiry, Annabeth gave her native american friend a light shove. "Moe…!"

But Moriah got a kick out of messing with Grant. She spoke right into Walter's ear. "C'mon. Ya know ya wanna. She'll put hair on your chest. Go on."

Walter couldn't suppress his amused smile, but he managed to pull away from Annabeth's grinning friend. "Maybe another time." He murmured as he proceeded towards his seat.

"Hah! That's _not_ a denial!" Moriah giggled as Annabeth shook her head.

"You're such a bitch." The blushing Annabeth mused as she settled back into her seat.

Moriah settled into her own desk seat, which was right next to Annabeth's. The grin of the Cheshire Cat remained full and wide on Houk's face. "You love him and you know it, paleface." She amusedly whispered in rebuttal.

Most of the male eyes in the classroom quickly diverted to the unnatural blond girl who came into the room clutching a small pile of books to her chest as she chomped on what used to be a soft, pink, cube-sized wad of bubble gum. Krystal Riley's striking sky-blue eyes were, as always, wide as saucers as she made her way to her seat, ignoring most of the guys leering at her.

One boy who never passed up the chance to linger his gaze whenever Krystal was in close vicinity was Michael Zimmer, a slim-figured, plain-looking student with a mullet of short, dark brown hair parted to one side. Never wanting to be accused of staring at anyone, he always looked away in his shyness whenever this beautiful young cheerleader's gaze found his own.

But before the object of Michael's unspoken desire could get anywhere near him, one of the Football jocks of the class…Mickey Palladino…hurried over to block Krystal's path, grinning lasciviously. "Hey, Rah-rah." Mickey softly and suggestively greeted. "Trey thinks you should personalize a cheer for me. I thought it was a pretty good idea. Whaddya think?"

Krystal smirked. "I would, but…somehow, 'go fuck yourself' just doesn't go with the daily routine. Sorry."

Muscling her way past Mickey, she walked a route that would take her past Michael's desk.

Mike had never once brought up the nerve to say anything to the girl of his dreams as she came near, and out of fear that he would be viciously rebuffed. Today, he finally decided to break the ice as nicely as he could, as per his father's urging over the past couple of days.

"Hi, Krystal." He finally blurted out, as naturally as he could, when he knew she was in earshot.

Much to Michael's surprise, she flashed him a sweet smile, and even gave him a friendly wave, as she passed him.

Mike blushed deeply, and he let out a sigh of surprised relief. Perhaps his father was right about just being nice, and acting natural, towards girls he had a crush on?

The slamming of a hand on his desk rudely jerked Mike out of his reverie. Mickey…who was now angrily standing in front of his desk…shoved a finger right in Zimmer's face. "You keep away from my girl, you little shit."

Michael's tone was defiant in his response. "She's not your girl, dumbass."

" _What the FUCK did you call me?_ " Mickey was right in Mike's face now, forcing a flinch from the latter. Despite Mickey being much more well-built compared to Zimmer, Mike felt compelled to hold his ground, and he just stared bravely back at the bullying jock.

"She's not my girl either." Mike continued, trying not to sound scared. "She's with…whoever she wants to be with."

Mickey sounded a lot more nasty now, practically pushing against Mike's face with his own. "That's not what I asked, _nerd._ "

"HEY!" Mickey was suddenly pulled back by yet another well-built man, this one dark-skinned, with the bulky physique of a linebacker beneath the Football team's jacket he wore. LaShawn Hughes got right in Mickey's face. "That's _enough,_ Mick. Leave my man Mike alone. Get to ya damn seat!"

Mickey angled a hateful glance towards Zimmer. Mike just stared defiantly back at him despite his own trembling.

Mickey, however, knew that he couldn't take a guy like LaShawn. Especially since that would naturally incur the wrath of the rest of his school-based gang, which were collectively known as the "T.D." The popular belief was that this stood for "Touch Down"(since all of its members were with the school's Football team), but no one within the gang had ever been definitive about what the letters meant.

Mickey just shook his head and moved past Mike's desk. He wanted to smack Zimmer in the back of his head, but he figured a few spitball shots during the Science class they shared before lunch would allow him to transmit his spite.

LaShawn's eyes turned to Mike, cordially raising a fist for a fist-bump. "You OK, Mike?"

Mike heaved a relaxed breath before bringing up his own fist to bump at LaShawn's. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Mick gives you any trouble, y' let me know. Aight?"

Zimmer nodded, still easing his nerves from the stand-off.

The larger black man then indicated Krystal. "Think she likes ya, Z-man. I saw that smile on her face when she passed ya. You keep playin' it cool, I think y' got a shot."

Mike shrugged, smiling. "We'll see."

Trey Coolidge, another member of the T.D., diverted LaShawn's attention in that moment, leaving Mike to glance warily to Mickey, who had thankfully diverted his attention to gang member Kevin Mintner, who had been struggling to keep his grades up.

Mike's wandering gaze then fell on the class's two black-clad goth girls who had slipped in during his confrontation with Mickey. He, like everyone else in the class, knew that these two…Deidre Vandervelde, and Adele Nurmi…were attached in a way that was more than just a common platonic association.

The local gossip-mongers had often reported that they had been spotted kissing each other in the halls between classes. As in lips-to-lips, and quite passionately at that.

A few minutes remained before the first period bell, and in that time, the two young russians of the class…Nadia Wolinski and Vladis Jellinek…joined the class, speaking to each other in their native language. Everyone knew them to be friends, although on a more platonic level. They kept to themselves otherwise. They all figured they'd eventually acknowledge each other as more than just friends if they stayed together.

The slim, brown-skinned and bespectacled Malcolm Derricks was the next to hurry in, always hoping he wasn't late, and then checking his wristwatch to make sure. Confirming that he had made it in time, he headed for his seat. Valerie Chung gave him a quiet acknowledgement, although they both had ashen expressions for the one experience they both shared.

They were both at the protest which ended with 56 students dead from the guns of riot police.

Malcolm settled into his seat, which was across from where Krystal Riley usually sat. He never gave her any kind of a glance, based on what he knew about her.

Patrick Dane, the Football team's star Quarterback, hurried into the classroom as well. As always, he was followed by his burly best friend, the gentle-mannered Dutchman called Herman "Blitz" Krieger. Herman also maintained the distinction of being the biggest and the strongest on the team.

Unlike others on the team, however, he and Patrick were not members of the T.D. gang, and it was largely because of Pat's lack of interest in the gang that Herman chose to refrain, even though he had been invited in more than once. If Pat had done otherwise, Herman would have followed suit.

"…so the death of Attucks wasn't the _only_ reason the American Revolution started." Pat told his attentive german friend. "More like, it was _among_ the reasons. It was like…a build-up to a blow-out. Know what I mean?"

Herman nodded, hoping his childhood friend's information would benefit the essay he had been charged by his History teacher to write.

Issac Meyer's social circle had grown by now. He was in casual chatter not only with Hamid, but with shop class stars Ron Jorgensen and Peter Ellis. Jorgensen's attention, however, would divert in the very next moment.

Stepping into the classroom, after all, was the most naturally beautiful, golden-haired crush of his school life. Even without makeup, this particular girl occupied a place in Ron's wildest dreams. Sometimes as a naked nymph on a large lily pad in a large, clear pond of water, other times as a white-winged emissary of love from the heavens.

The latter case, however, was not too far a stretch from what this girl truly represented, which in itself was why most of her peers avoided her.

Unless, of course, they regularly went to Church on Sunday.

She was Gloria Angel, an aptly-named aspirant to the calling of the local Mormons, and someone who could always be relied upon to quote…often to the annoyance of others…from the Bible if the situation demanded that she do so, which was more often than she should. Her few friends were either teacher's pets, popularly snooty bitches, or church devotees just like her. Although she was certainly blessed with a head-turning degree of natural beauty from face to figure, just about everyone in school knew enough about her to advise the uninitiated that unless you were a religious freak or a habitual snitch, you wouldn't have a prayer, so to speak, of lasting more than a month as anything more than just a passing acquaintance.

Assuming Gloria actually, truly, liked you in the first place.

Two girls…a redhead known for being a teacher's pet, and a big-haired girl known for being a selfish jerk…flanked Gloria as she made her way to her seat. Ron made an effort to keep from being noticed by her. He found out the hard way that staring at someone like Gloria Angel would earn him a vicious rebuke, and perhaps another Bible quote to reinforce her argument.

Gloria practically dismissed her two friends as if she were royalty, dutifully reminding them not to be late for their first period classes as they walked away. Before settling into her seat, she pulled the small gold crucifix piece hanging from her necklace up to her lips and gave it a kiss.

Settling into her seat, as Gloria devotedly touched her lips to her crucifix, was the sweet-faced, but very plain-looking girl who was unquestionably the most shy and introverted of all the girls in the class. Her name was Molly Pulaski.

More often than not, Gloria had wanted to confront this visibly insecure young girl on the notion of perhaps making her a convert to the ways of the Lord. Perhaps save her from whatever hardships she had to endure outside of school, which was a guess seeing as how Gloria knew next to nothing about her. As per her calling, however, Gloria figured that no matter what manner of wounds Molly might be suffering from, the Lord's way would heal them.

Today, she felt compelled to break the ice as Molly waited for the first period bell. "Have you thought about going to confession?"

Molly angled her head towards Gloria, puzzled.

"Or…maybe you could talk with me?" Gloria reasoned. "Whatever's bothering you, maybe I can help you."

Molly frowned, and then shook her head.

"Molly…you've gotta talk with someone some time." Gloria chided. "If you keep everything to yourself all the time, you'll lose it. Sooner or later." She then reached a hand over to place it on her shoulder. "C'mon. Let me help you."

Molly, however, recoiled from the touch in much the same way as a feisty cat reacting to unwanted contact. She then opened up her bloated book bag and pulled out that which took up a lot of the spare space in the bag: a very cute-looking and colorful plush toy.

Molly then flashed a sweet smile. "He's my friend. I tell him everything." She then gave her plush friend a loving hug, and continued to lavish her full attention on it as if Gloria was never there.

Gloria now frowned, feeling extremely slighted over this display. Her eyes narrowed as she uttered her spiteful rebuke. "You shouldn't place your faith in false gods, _heathen!_ "

Gloria's words, however, went unheeded by the introverted girl whose mind was quite clearly elsewhere. She now hated that Molly…this potential convert…could ever find a happy place on the advice of someone other than Gloria Angel herself. Yet another lost soul for Gloria to add to her personal, mental list of the lost souls, which went with a bigger list of the souls she felt were worth banishing to damnation.

Gloria's own wandering gaze next fell on a pair of latin-american students who she believed were entirely worth being damned to the deepest pits of Hell on the basis of the nasty reputation they had amassed for themselves. Almost everyone…even members of the T.D….kept a distance from these two whenever they entered a room. Their figures were well-toned, and portions of wicked-looking tattoos could be seen on whatever areas of skin their conservative school uniforms could reveal.

This came from their days among violent gangs they ran with outside of the United States, before they came to the country.

The harsh-faced young man was Alejandro Espina, and at his side was his well-braided and equally tough girlfriend, Gina Salazar. Logically, they were speaking to each other in their own native language as everyone around them ignored their presences. Most, if not everyone in the class, believed Alejandro was the sort of person that would make you wonder if he had some kind of a weapon in his possession at all times. A blade, brass knuckles, maybe even a gun of some kind.

He was known for having a hair-trigger temper, too.

Nobody messed with Gina, either, as they knew Alejandro would practically hunt them down no matter how serious…or even how insignificant…the slight might be.

Watching over all of them…while chatting with the attractive, burqa-wearing Indian student Anaya Mukherjee about a faculty matter…was a young and an unusually attractive schoolteacher named Hubert Parry, who was often referred to as "Huey-Dewey" by those who respected him. He was definitely a fair-minded and likeable sort unless you were not the kind of person who makes a lot of friends(like Alejandro). He was a late replacement for a more extreme-mannered teacher who had taken an extended leave of absence. The difference between that teacher…a middle-aged woman named Cassandra Emerson…and Hubert was the very essence of night and day, with Hubert embodying the latter. As Cassandra was more harsh and unforgiving in her disciplinary ways, Hubert was more lenient, understanding, and pleasant in nature, although he could certainly apply a more firm hand if he was pushed into doing so.

Hubert, owing to the nickname everyone had for him, had a way of getting the attention of the class, and it was certainly loud enough for everyone to hear. He would emulate the Disney character Donald Duck's wild quacking whenever he was in a frenzy of anger. This always generated a few chuckles from the students as they all turned their heads to him. Those like Alejandro and Gina just rolled their eyes and gave Huey-Dewey a disinterested stare as the room slowly went quiet.

"Good Morning, everyone." Hubert began.

"HIIIIII, MI-CKEEEEYYYY!" was his common response from the students. Another round of chuckling and giggling ensued before Hubert raised his hand up to restore their quiet attention.

"Well, I don't have to check and see if you're wearing your school uniforms, you've all got them on, so…" He switched to his valley girl-like voice. "…what-everrr."

The students chuckled again. It was a measure that was recently brought up in the wake of the incident involving the protest-gone-bad. A measure brought up by Anderson U.S. Grant as one of his first acts upon becoming President of the United States. Hubert knew no one liked the idea, but it became school policy very quickly. Hubert had been told that it could be a temporary measure until the media circus surrounding the incident died down, and it was for the sake of the students who liked him that he would occasionally ask about the possibility of the dress code rule's repeal.

Hardly anyone in the class wore the uniform correctly, and while supporters of the dress code measure routinely frowned upon these minor breaches of conduct, Hubert was among those who didn't care for how they wore the enforced manner of dress. There were untucked shirts, there were shirts like Krystal's and Gina's which were tied above the navel, there were even dress pants with fashionable rips along the legs. These usually amounted to a demerit among the supporters in the faculty during any given class, but those like Hubert regularly ignored such breaches out of respect for how the students felt about what they believed to be an ultimately ridiculous measure, no matter how 'psychologically sound' the Grant Administration believed the measure to be.

"Anyway…" Hubert continued, still having the attention of the class. "…I'm sure that's not the most important thing on your minds right now, but rather a certain class trip which is set for tomorrow. You will all need to be at the bus depot by 6 a.m. _sharp,_ so no late night Halo 2 games tonight, OK?"

Those who didn't fear for the possibility of the BR act's implementation in the US had expressions of high anticipation for the fun they were going to have far from the school grounds. The trip seemed prohibitively expensive by normal standards, and it was of the variety that seemed too good to be true. This made people like Valerie Chung and Malcolm Derricks more than a little nervous.

Hubert caught on to some of these expressions. "Now I know some of you are worried that this class trip may turn into a nasty surprise. That we'll all get put to sleep, and wake up on an island with bombs on our necks. But…let's be honest. We're not Japan, and we're a bit too civilized as a nation to allow for a really bad school reform law to be passed here, so…chill out about that. You should also be reminded about this 'unofficial holiday' of yours, the so-called 'Cut-Out Day'. As you may know, some of your teachers are not the biggest fans of this thing. If you're gonna do it, do it at your own risk. I've heard that some of these teachers will fail you on the spot if you don't show up at their classes today. Play it smart. I don't want to hear that some students didn't graduate this year because they missed a single day's class."

Before Hubert could acknowledge the responses of the class, the first period bell blared, and the students rose up from their seats to begin heading for the classroom door.

Hubert spoke over the cacophony of murmurs. "I'll see you all tomorrow morning at the depot! Have a good day! Don't kill yourselves trying to get out that door all at once!"

Hubert's gaze went to Carl Porter, a mullet-haired goth boy whose expression was typically ashen as he drifted from his desk to the mass of students slowly leaving the room. He then glanced to a quartet of girls known for being obnoxious bullies in the hallways...Aduke VelJohnson, Destiny Lopez, Yolanda Martinez, and Letitia Yeardley…as they approached the classroom door.

"Dukey gonna be de last one out." Destiny amusedly observed to Letitia. "She got five Big Macs too many in that big ol' body."

"Des, you so thin, you must drink from water pistols." Aduke shot back, provoking laughter from all four girls.

The last two people out of the classroom, however, were Hamid Ranganathan and Vincent Willits. Hubert immediately knew why as he warily observed the latter. Vincent was a member of the T.D. gang who had a reputation for being a bully of the racist variety, and even though Hamid routinely minded his own business, he frequently had to endure often vicious and demeaning acts of torment from Willits. Either between classes, or even when a teacher temporarily left the room.

As Hamid followed the four-girl clique out, Vincent…who had been sitting in his seat the entire time, waiting for the innocent-looking young man to move…now rose up to hurry over to Hamid with a predatory expression.

Hubert, however, hurried over to block his path with a very angry look on his face. "Don't even think about it, Vinny." He firmly warned.

Vincent tried to laugh off the effort. "Hey, c'mon, man. I'm just givin' Ham back his pencil. I saw him drop it yesterday during 5th period."

"Uh huh. _Bullshit._ " Hubert firmly shot back, getting right in his face. "I know what this is about. Hamid reported you to the Dean yesterday over all those spitballs you've been shooting at him during classes. Assholes like you would want revenge, no?"

Vincent sighed irritably. "Yo, man, why can't you mind y' fu…"

"What?" Hubert's tone turned more vicious as a much more intimidating glare burned into Vincent, who had stopped himself from dropping an F-bomb which he knew from a previous showdown with this man would cost him a shot at a scholarship he badly needed. " _WHAT?_ "

"Hey, come on!" Vincent's tone turned whiny now. "I'm gonna be late for my fff…my _class,_ man!"

"Stay the hell away from Hamid." Hubert angrily remarked. "If I find out you were bothering him in any way, you can forget that scholarship you're going for. Or even _graduation_ for that matter. That goes double for the class trip. I'm keepin' a big eye on you this weekend."

"Okaaay, okaaay, okay." Vincent irritably relented. "I'll leave rag-head alone. Can I go now, mommy?"

Hubert shook his head as he gazed upon the jock. "Boggles my mind how you can be so shameless." He then gestured to the door with a thumb. "Get out of here."

As Vincent disappeared down the now quiet hall, he heard him cry out towards the door he distanced himself from. "You oughta watch _your_ mouth, faggot!"

Hubert calmly shook his head in dismissal, hearing Vincent sprint away in his attempt at a needless escape. The sighing faculty rep settled at his desk and went over papers that were on his desk, among them the papers of a pop quiz he had sprung on another class yesterday afternoon.

As Hubert worked, he heard someone rushing towards the open door of his class from outside. He knew exactly who this was. William Han panted heavily as he slowed his pace and stepped into the empty room.

Hubert didn't need to look up from his papers. "Late!" He calmly called out.

The Chinese-american track athlete sighed irritably, his shoulders sagging. His cry in response was the same every time.

" _FUCK!_ "

* * *

The unofficial Cut-Out Day was actually a _second_ day that was arranged, this one in protest of the 56 students who died in the demonstration that was violently cut short by Riot Police. This was in addition to the more traditional Skip Day during the Senior year, and students of all grade levels at the Middle School were invited to join in. Cut-Out time was set for 11 a.m.

As many of the Security Guards at the school were also sympathetic to the students, they did nothing to stop them from swarming out the doors when the time arrived. Gloria Angel, however, simply found it all the easier for her to make it through the halls and get to her Algebra class in advance of the period bell. She was obviously among the very few who chose to ignore the Cut-Out day.

Besides…she knew Mr. Dunbar was prepared to fail anyone who chose to ditch his class.

Once Gloria stepped inside the empty room, however, she realized Dunbar's threat had fallen on deaf ears. Dunbar himself was leaning against his desk with his head lowered. He didn't speak a single word, even when Gloria stepped in.

A message, in all caps, had been written on the otherwise empty blackboard.

 **FUCK  
YOUR  
** **CLASS**

Gloria frowned. She recognized the handwriting. Lorenzo Trujillo, another known troublemaker who was in her class. Dunbar frequently had showdowns with that athletic rabble-rouser. He hardly missed any chance to challenge the older man's authority. It was always Dunbar's withering scowl that intimidated Lorenzo into compliance. Lorenzo would brag, afterwards, that he always got a kick out of seeing Dunbar get so upset.

Dunbar turned his head towards Gloria.

"Sssssoooo…" Gloria awkwardly began. "…no quiz? I mean…I'll still take it if you still want to…"

Dunbar quietly and slowly shook his head, his eyes closed.

He then pushed himself to his feet and slowly stepped towards Gloria. "Wouldn't make much of a difference anyway." He calmly remarked, his Scottish accent decorating his words. He tried to change the subject, not wanting to pursue his original line of thinking. "I bet you're looking forward to tomorrow."

Gloria frowned. "God will punish them all for not showing up today."

Dunbar gently placed his hands on Gloria's shoulders. "Or I will. This just gives me the opportunity to make the quiz _harder_ on Monday. Even for you. But don't worry." He then flashed a devious smile. "Anyone who showed up today…you, in other words…will get extra credit."

Gloria shrugged, smiling. "I…could stay and do homework, or something."

But Dunbar gestured to the open door, shaking his head. "Go." He replied. "Go say a 'hail Mary' for everyone I'm gonna hammer with my super-hard quiz on Monday." He practically pushed Gloria towards the door. "Have a blessed weekend."

Although Gloria was still hesitant, she got the hint. She couldn't see the harm in remaining in Dunbar's class to pass the time and do homework. Why did he want to be alone all of a sudden?

Only Dunbar himself knew, however. He didn't want to be around any students. He was, after all, among those who thought that the BR act would indeed be passed in the US in response to the tragedy at the demonstration.

He hoped that all of his students would be accounted for on Monday, and that his concerns would be for nothing. He wanted to believe President Anderson's public denials.

But Dunbar was among the few who were aware that the School's Principal was among Anderson's supporters. He was among those extremists who wanted school reform.

Even if it meant getting the students to kill each other.


	3. II: Don't Worry, Be Happy

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Before this chapter begins, I must give a shout-out to a number of ladies who were the visual inspiration for some of the student characters featured in this story.**

 **Three of the maids with the Maid 4U Cafe'( )...Maid Akina, Maid Sena, and Maid Miyu...serve as the visual inspirations for three female students in this story(Violet Noda, Valerie Chung, and Battle Maid Athena, respectively).**

 **Twitch gamer "Shandab3ar" was the inspiration for Moriah Houk, and NJ-based cosplayer Emma Pool(she's bluegrayemma on Instagram) was the visual inspiration for Emma Curahee.**

 **On with the story!**

* * *

 **II: Don't Worry, Be Happy**

 _"It's been a while. It's me, Kitano, your teacher from back in 7th Grade. I'm taking Class B over again. Let's all be friends."  
_ _\- Mr. Kitano, "Battle Royale"_

 **THE BELT PARKWAY, NY – 7:03 A.M.**

The agreed-upon locale for the class trip was a resort in the Pocono Mountains. The Senior Class had lobbied hard to get the school to agree to it. The original notion was that the students had to fund it themselves, and they ultimately fell short of reaching the required goal despite a herculean effort to get the word around.

Much to the surprise of the student organizers, however, the Principal changed his tune. The remaining funds were provided by the school itself in an apparent show of clemency.

Instructions were given for each of the students to prepare a bag in advance of the trip which would contain personal items. Shampoo, soap, snacks, and other necessities of a non-lethal nature…some of which were required to be approved in advance by the faculty advisor(which, in this case, was Mr. Parry)…were to be included in what came to be called their personal packs, which were identified by names on either their bags, or attached tags.

Mysteriously, laptop computers of any kind were to be left at home, which inconvenienced students like Issac Meyer and Trudi Malone.

The bus was well underway on the sunny morning of the trip. From what his contacts had told him about the BR act's routine in Japan, Hubert was advised to be vigilant. If the charter bus driver was in military clothes, or there were gas masks anywhere in the vicinity of his driving area, that was an indication that the class was doomed to participate in a Battle Royale.

Although the driver looked particularly well-built and bulky, he seemed pleasant enough. He was in a regular bus driver's outfit, and no evidence of a gas mask could be seen.

Hubert kept the mood as pleasant as he could as the charter bus began to roll onto the Belt Parkway. He occasionally scanned the sides of the road for any evidence of military vehicles. None manifested. The traffic was normal.

Or at least, as normal as it could be for any given morning on the Belt Parkway.

Hubert rose from his seat looking a little more relaxed, coming near Natalie Cross…another goth girl in the class who had a Doctor's appointment the previous day, hence her no-show for the Cut-Out day…who gave him a lascivious wink as he passed her.

He knew Natalie's interests were a bit more…kinky, compared to the other goth girls, so Hubert just flashed a shy grin before moving past her. Also returning in time for the class trip was Emma Curahee, the most militant student of the class. She had a newspaper in her lap, and she wasn't paying attention to anyone else.

The story she was reading was yet another BR-related denial from the President, although this particular article had a readers poll. 23% were against the BR act being passed in America, while 77% favored it.

Trudi Malone was in another seat, deeply engrossed in the latest _Star Wars_ novel…"Exile", a book in the "Legacy of the Force" series. Seated next to her was a very nervous and moody-looking Violet Noda, a Japanese girl raised in America. Her gaze was riveted to the window as traffic zipped past. She had chosen not to show up to school the previous day because she suspected the Cut-Out day would more or less sabotage the point of going to school that day in the first place.

Hubert didn't need to guess as to why she was being so jumpy during the ride. "Hey, Vi… _daijobudesuka?_ "

Violet jerked her head towards Hubert, her eyes wide with surprise. "Huh? Oh, _gomen._ I…I'll be OK."

Hubert smiled, leaning in towards her. "It's not gonna happen, if that's what you're thinking."

Violet just nodded, and then returned to her perpetual nervousness. Hubert realized here that there was little he could say to change her mind, so he left Violet alone for the moment.

Besides, Manuel Ortiz…another student of the class who was a no-show yesterday due to the Cut-Out Day…was signaling for Hubert's attention.

"Mr. Parry…" He asked, with a noticeable touch of worry in his voice. "…what if the rumors are true? I mean…what do we do then? I wanna create stuff, not kill people!"

"And that's what you'll keep doing, Manny. You'll keep creating stuff. Just like any artist." Hubert assured. "You'll see. Once we get to the resort, we'll all have a big laugh about that silly rumor. When we get there, the only thing we'll need to worry about is…" He leaned in to speak quietly to Manuel. "…Alejandro Espina."

Manuel chuckled at this, and nodded in agreement as Hubert continued his progress towards the back of the bus, where the burly black members of the T.D. gang were working on a rap of some kind. They were trying to get the white members of the gang on the bus to do it right, with not much success.

LaShawn Hughes…popularly known as "LSD"(the "D" being the first letter of his middle name, Darren)…was chatting up Mike Zimmer, while Mickey Palladino was taking a nap six seats back. Krystal Riley was fixing her hair a little, while Patrick Dane was helping his big buddy Herman Krieger with more of his History homework. Malcolm Derricks watched the world go by at a rapid pace as he stared out the window, making sure he had a seat that was comfortably far from where Krystal Riley sat.

Hubert then overheard someone speak about him at a portion of the bus. "What about Huey-Dewey?"

It was Letitia Yeardley and her four rambunctious friends. Aduke yelled out her answer. "Naaaw, dat boy gon' be one o' dose runway guys! 'You bet-ta wooork…'"

Hubert chuckled at this, shaking his head as the girls went into a few bars of the song "Supermodel" by RuPaul. Aduke spotted him spying on them, and she rose up to call out to him.

"Dat's right, Huey-Dewey!" Her tone remained entertainingly obnoxious. "You betta WORK, bitch!"

Amused, Hubert mimed the provocative moves of a Chippendales dancer, gyrating his gut while placing a hand behind his head. This was enough to get all four girls laughing uproariously, along with so many others glancing at him.

As the laughter died down, Trey and LaShawn led their T.D. buddies through a nicely-sung rendition of Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy". They tried to get the others to join in, with only a few taking the bait. LaShawn even provided a bit of beatboxing.

Hubert then noticed Moriah Houk examining the contents of a box she had with her. When the young faculty rep stepped over to take a curious peek, he saw that Moriah had an array of very nicely-arranged feathers in the box, which were connected to what looked like hairclips with a colored gemstone on each one.

"What'cha got there, Moe?" Hubert asked.

Moriah was uncharacteristically serious when she turned to him to answer his question. "My grandma gave me these last year during summer break. When I clip one in my hair, it's supposed to help me. It's a…spirit thing." She picked up one which had a red gem on the hairclip. "This is meant to be worn when I have to fight."

Hubert knew where this conversation could be going. "It's not gonna happen here, Moe."

"You really believe that, Mr. Parry?"

Moriah sounded disturbingly serious here. She looked convinced that the President's denials were a fabrication. Her gaze lingered on him for a long moment as Hubert tried to think of a proper response.

All he could manage, as he gestured to the box's contents, was "They look nice, Moe."

At that point, the driver's voice could be heard through the speakers on the bus. Hubert had noticed the CB device when he checked the driver's area. "Good morning, class…this is your driver up front. We're running a bit low on gas, so we need to make a quick service stop. We'll be back underway once the tank's full. Sorry for the inconvenience, kids."

Hubert hurried to the front, and saw that the bus was indeed slowing down, and pulling into a gas station. The station didn't look particularly suspicious at first glance as it parked next to a pump, save for that it wasn't a popularly-known gas provider. It wasn't Shell, or Mobil.

Could this unexpected move be trusted, he thought? Hubert did look at the gas gauge, and it was indeed in the red area.

From what his contacts had told him the night before, classes chosen for the Japanese BR program were driven through a tunnel where they would be gassed into unconsciousness. Having checked the route, he saw that there were no tunnels along the route the bus would need to take to get to its destination. Perhaps they'd find some way to knock them all out on the approach to the Poconos?

He needed to make a call, if only to ease his inescapable concerns. When the bus settled in, Hubert had the driver open the door and he hurried over to an attendant.

"Good morning." Hubert offered a polite wave as he neared the older man. "Have you got a pay phone here?"

The physically well-built attendant nodded. "Over in the back of the convenience store."

Glancing over to the bus, he saw another attendant insert a gas pump into a hole on the side of the large vehicle. Seeing that nothing looked out of the ordinary thus far, he sprinted to where he was told the pay phone was located.

The pay phone area unfortunately blocked his view of the bus, which meant he had to take his eyes off of it for awhile. Hopefully, the phone conversation would be brief.

As a loud passenger plane roared overhead, Hubert was able to get his contact's phone ringing once before the call came to a sudden, and unexpected end.

A black-gloved hand placed the receiver back on the pay phone's hook.

Aboard the bus, Walter Abilene rose from his seat to head up to where the driver was sitting. Looking at the convenience store…which had tinted black windows…made him peckish enough to want to go and get a snack.

He was yawning as he moved. Everyone else was beginning to look a bit tired as well.

The driver, however, was not there. He had apparently stepped out of the bus…presumably to go to the gas station's bathroom…while Walter was not looking.

Walter couldn't even make it back to his seat in time to settle in and take a quick nap. He just collapsed in the middle of the center aisle of the bus, and lapsed into a deep, inescapable sleep.

The talking had died down by this time as well, as everyone else on the bus had fallen prey to the knockout gas that had been filtered into the bus through the fake gas pump hole, which was higher than the vehicle's actual pump hole. The T.D. gang, Annabeth, Moriah, Manuel, Alejandro, Issac, Valerie, Emma...they were all fast asleep in their seats from the colorless and odorless sleep agent that now filled the interior of the bus.

The only one aboard the bus who was still struggling to stay awake was Violet Noda. She tried to keep her eyes open, but they remained mere slits that she could barely make out shapes through. Everything was a blur by now.

She then heard the dull thuds of people coming into the bus, and that perked her senses a little.

Her vision sharpened just a bit as a figure stepped in front of her. He was dressed in black, from head to toe, and he wore a gas mask over his balaclava.

She wearily raised a hand, reaching out to touch whoever this person was. Whoever this was, however, was no friend. His response made that very clear.

He drew a gun and fired a tranquilizer dart that immediately put Violet to sleep.

* * *

Japanese soldiers pulled Shuya Nanahara out of the classroom seat and lifted his chin, pulling his head back agonizingly hard as his Shiroiwa classmates that surrounded them watched with accusing stares.

Strangely, he did _not_ have an explosive collar around his neck.

"What was that look for, Nanahara?"

It was Mr. Kitano's voice, followed by a beep from his remote control. The same remote control he used to murder Nobu.

Shuya's bare neck exploded, showering blood, bone and fragments of his throat forward in a violent, sickening spray.

* * *

Shuya Nanahara's eyes shot open as he gasped, having been freed from his horrible nightmare.

The blurry sights in front of him sharpened, and he found himself looking at a ceiling in a dark room. He could feel the hard surfaces of a pair of pushed-together school desks beneath his back.

He then felt a familiar coil of tight, cold steel around his neck.

His hand rose up to his neck quickly to confirm that this was indeed one of those dreaded collars. His eyes slowly closed in his quiet irritation.

It was clear that he was being put through yet _another_ terrible BR game.

A horrible scream interrupted the silence that followed his discovery.

Violet Noda continued to scream as her hands touched a similar collar around her neck. Moriah Houk and Valerie Chung hurried over to try and calm the terrified young Japanese girl down.

Shuya could not understand a word of their language, but he knew that with the obvious exception of the screaming girl, they were all americans.

American _schoolkids._

 _American schoolkids?_

As much as Shuya was filled with loathing over what would no doubt be another three days in government-sanctioned Hell, he could see the terrified faces of many of the students in the room who were waking up, many of them fingering at the sleekly-designed explosive devices that were now attached to their necks.

Shuya could not help but feel sympathy for these middle school students. None of these kids were soldiers. His mind replayed the first moments when he woke up after being knocked out by a woman…a bus attendant…in a gas mask aboard a bus bound for what he thought would be an idyllic class trip with Yoshitoki Kuninobu, Noriko Nakagawa, and all of his Shiroiwa school friends.

The two girls who had went over to the shrieking, sobbing girl were able to get her to stop screaming, although tears still streamed down from her eyes over what she obviously knew to be her worst nightmare made real. A nightmare she would be unable to escape from.

Unless she won, of course.

Crossing his legs in front of him, Shuya lowered his head and covered his face with his hands, trying not to let his inner rage over his current situation keep him from being focused. He knew this particular contest would be difficult for the fact that for all he knew about these kids, none of them would be able to understand his words, and they would not be able to understand him. It was clear to Shuya that the BR Committee was banking on this handicap.

He hoped that at some point during the next three days, he would be able to prove them wrong.

"Mutha _fucka._ " LaShawn barked out angrily as he felt the steel band around his neck. He then spotted Mike Zimmer, who was now looking distraught as he confirmed the presence of his own collar.

Issac didn't even bring his hands up to his own collar. He just knew it was there. Rising to a sitting position, he hung his head down, sighing hopelessly.

Walter Abilene and Annabeth Grant had found each other, and they were gazing at each other's collars in disbelief.

"No…!" Annabeth whispered, astonished over the audacity of her own father. This _had_ to be his doing. All those times when she assured people that the reform act would never be passed here. All of it proven wrong in one damnable instant unless this was all revealed to be nothing more than a sick and twisted practical joke.

Gina Salazar tried tugging at her collar in an attempt to get it off…but Alejandro hurried over to stop her.

"Don't do dat, meng." Her tattooed, buzz-haired boyfriend quietly warned. "Fuckin' thing'll blow up."

"WHAT _IS_ THIS SHIT?" Kevin Mintner cried out angrily. He then turned to Annabeth. "It's your Dad's doin', isn't it?"

Annabeth knew she'd be blamed. Her irritation manifested quickly. "He's _not my Dad anymore,_ asshole!"

Vincent Willits looked unconvinced. His eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded Annabeth. "You're _dead,_ bitch."

Issac sighed irritably. "Oh, will you calm down, Mister Willits!"

" _Suck my dick, hebe!_ " Vince barked back, firing a finger at the bespectacled student. "Mind your own fuckin' matzo balls!"

"Yo, Vince! Shut th' _fuck up!_ " LaShawn commanded, giving the T.D. racist a hard and intimidating stare. He then looked to the others, who had also quieted down. "Aight…where's Huey-Dewey?"

"Last I saw, he got off the bus." Mike Zimmer replied. "He never came back."

"Well, I hope to hell this is some kinda bad joke." LaShawn turned to Annabeth. "An' _no one here is to blame._ Jus' relax." He turned his attention back to everyone around him. "All o' y'all. If dis ain't no joke, we gotta work t'gether."

"Agreed." Issac nodded emphatically as he spoke.

Shuya turned away from the arguing kids. He didn't want to run the risk of being recognized, much as he wanted to say that he'd be willing to help them get off the island and escape the game. Somehow.

Maybe even get the Wild Seven going again with a fresh new group of recruits…foreign ones, this time…and truly make his cause a global one.

Destiny Lopez noticed that there were two people…both of them males, and one of them Shuya…that she did not recognize, seated on the tops of desks in the back of the classroom. She regarded the nervous-looking, short-haired, clean-cut student with a confused look.

He glanced back at Destiny, nodding his head once in an attempt at a silent greeting.

The sound of helicopters at the windows along the side of the classroom were now loud enough to drown out all conversation, and divert the attentions of everyone in the darkened classroom as they hovered over their sandy Landing Zones outside. Anaya Mukherjee had tried to open the closed doors of the classroom in that moment, but she discovered that they were both locked tight.

Trey Coolidge went right to the window in time to see a vaguely familiar-looking woman and a gray-haired, tough-looking man in military fatigues step off one of the Blackhawk choppers. Standing around the landing zones were what looked to be soldiers in all-black uniforms, covering them from head to toe. They were all armed with submachine guns. Some of them had larger, scoped rifles slung to their backs.

"Check it out, man." Trey mused. "Dey got G.I. Joes out there. Whole bunch o' Snake-Eyes."

Emma Curahee was the only one who was not at the window. She had instead grabbed a chair and was sitting in quiet expectation of something. She stared forward, emotionlessly, and waited. Her personal pack…which was required of everyone who went on the class trip…was slung across her back.

Ron Jorgensen squinted his eyes to get a good look at the soldiers. He noticed Issac step up next to him. "You think they're Black Ops?"

"It would not surprise me one bit, Mister Jorgensen." Issac calmly replied.

Valerie frowned, turning her head to Ron in confusion. "Black Ops?"

"That's what they call soldiers sanctioned to do jobs that are, well, unofficial. Stuff regular soldiers don't normally do. Stuff you don't see in the papers." Ron replied. "Like an assassination, or some kind of sabotage."

"Or in this case, a BR program." Issac added.

They all heard the sounds of heavy footfalls…marching, no doubt…coming near one of the locked doors of the classroom, which looked like one used to teach History, given all the snippets of information regarding various wars and momentous events…such as the signing of the Declaration of Independence…over the past hundred or so years.

A click was heard at one of the doors, and Violet recognized the black-clad soldiers as they entered alongside a wide-eyed older woman and the gray camo-clad army officer behind her.

One of those soldiers, after all, had shot Violet with a tranq dart on the bus. This same soldier…who was now masked, like the others…clicked a switch on the wall of the room which bathed it in bright light, causing many of the students to squint in response over the sudden brightness.

A TV with a DVD player was also rolled into the classroom, the trolley stopping next to the teacher's desk.

Manuel Ortiz's eyes went wide upon recognizing the older woman, who turned to face the class with an unpleasant expression on her face. "Mrs. _Emerson?_ "

As he stood at ease, with his hands behind him and his legs spread apart, Emma recognized the army officer immediately upon seeing his craggy face. He gave the seated, attentive student a polite nod, despite their family relation. Emma tried not to smile in response to this.

Cassandra Emerson smirked as some of the students stared at her in disbelief. She had been put on leave since the incident in which she was caught inflicting corporal punishment upon a student. Many of them believed…and those who hated her _hoped_ …she had been fired for it.

The conservatively-dressed woman stood in front of the teacher's desk, looking just as frumpy as she always seemed to be, and regarded the class with a cold, hard stare, crossing her arms in front of her chest as the whine of the helicopters outside finally dissolved, giving Cassandra the benefit of total silence.

"Sit." She firmly commanded.

A couple of the students began to comply, either sitting on the floor or finding an available seat or a desk to sit on, while the rest either continued to stare at her in disbelief, or they were still half-asleep.

The army officer suddenly barked out angrily and loudly. "SIT THE FUCK DOWN! ON THE FLOOR, ON A SEAT, ON THE FUCKING DOUBLE!" He moved to hover over those who were slow to comply, hollering mercilessly at them. "PLANT IT! PLANT IT!"

This got everyone else settled quickly. Only Emma seemed immune to this sudden outburst for the fact that she was already sitting. She couldn't resist the opportunity to smirk over her foresight.

"You'll all get a chance to have your questions answered." Cassandra began. "For now, for those of you who don't know me, I am Mrs. Emerson. I used to teach at Middle School 202 before being…temporarily dismissed. Those of you who _do_ know me, know that I do not tolerate a lot of the stupid, meaningless shit that distracts you little bastards these days. Well, now you're all about to get what I personally think you all deserve."

Cassandra then turned to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and began writing three words upon the empty space. Even Shuya knew what it was, as he had seen the late Mr. Kitano write out a Japanese version of these words before the Shiroiwa Battle Royale began.

 **THE BR ACT**

"Before any of you say anything, the President's denials were meant for the mass media." Cassandra noted as she finished writing the last word, and then drew a long line under all three. She then turned to the astonished students. "This class has been chosen to test the act's implementation in the United States."

"Great." Gina Salazar disgustedly mused. "We're the fuckin' prototype."

" _Cállate!_ " The army officer hissed. Gina flipped him off in response.

Annabeth risked being silenced in her zeal to ask a question that many had on their minds. "Where's Mr. Parry?"

Cassandra frowned in confusion upon hearing the name. "Parry?" It then hit her, remembering who it was that replaced her. "Oh, you mean that pretty-boy faggot who took over for me when I left. You'll find out shortly. In the meantime, I should get you acquainted to a couple of special-guest students, both of whom were placed in the back. On the right…" She indicated the clean-cut american boy. "…we have Martin Norris from Middle School 226, he's here because he won a contest that was run by one of the BR act's sponsors. Those of you who read newspapers…" She now gestured to the wild-haired young Japanese man. "…might have seen _that_ guy in connection to terror acts in Japan. He's also a veteran of a couple of BR programs, so don't think he might not sneak up on you while you're sleeping just to open your potbellies up, and watch your breakfast, lunch, and dinner spill out. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the butcher of Tokyo himself, Shuya Nanahara."

While most looked at him in either fear, astonishment, or just plain disgust, Violet Noda's eyes were filled with a desire to destroy this man. She fixed a glare upon him that looked as if she would rush over and tear him apart with her bare hands at any moment.

Shuya, however, kept his expression neutral.

"It might also amuse you all to know that he doesn't speak a word of english." Cassandra added, a wicked grin on her mouth as Shuya's eyes fell on her.

Cassandra's next sentence was in Japanese as she stared back at him. "I give you a day before we finally waste your sorry ass, devil boy."

Shuya just stared at her, contemptuously.

Cassandra then glanced to Emma, restoring her English. "I just told him he's fucked."

Emma smiled in her amusement.

"For those of you who would rather sit in front of a screen all day and jerk off your joysticks in front of dirty pictures of underage women rather than pick up a newspaper and keep in touch with the _real_ world, then you probably have no clue as to what the BR act is." She then returned to the blackboard and wrote two words, in all caps, beneath the underline of her last blackboard sentence. She underlined those two words as well.

 **BATTLE ROYALE**

Cassandra turned back to the class, stepping towards them slowly. "And no, we're not talking about putting you in a wrestling ring in front of screaming crowds waiting to 'smell what the Heavyweight Champion is cooking'." She stopped when she reached the front line of the nervous students paying attention to her. "We're talking about the lot of you spending the next three days hunting each other down, and doing what I believe you'll all do best. You're going to kill each other, by any means necessary, until there is one person left standing. How you do it is up to you. There are no restrictions."

Those who actually didn't know anything about what the BR act was all about now had horrified expressions on their faces. Interestingly enough, Gloria Angel was one of those faces.

"You will also die if we notice anyone not paying any attention to the video we're about to show you, so keep your fucking mouths shut and keep your eyes and ears open." As Cassandra approached the television monitor, she gestured to the army officer. "Captain Curahee over there has a loaded gun, and he's prepared to shoot anyone who he catches falling asleep or napping during the video." She then glanced at Emma. "Even you."

Cassandra turned on the TV and the DVD player beneath it, and Capt. Curahee pulled a remote control out to hit the DVD player's Play button. After a couple of seconds of silence, a white caption came up on a black screen.

 **Sponsored by the**

 **BR LAW PROMOTION  
COMMITTEE**

What followed was what looked to be a very cheesy enactment of a masked terrorist group…each of them identified as such by way of a skull-and-crossbones sigil on their cheap army helmets and their chests…taking hardpoint positions with various weapons. Shuya recognized the modes of dress of these "terrorists" to be similar to the outfits his own Wild Seven group wore during the 'Blitz Royale', which was an alternate name for the BR II Act.

These cheesy terrorists were apparently scoping out what looked to be a handful of innocent people on the sands of a beach, all of whom were enjoying themselves. Kids were building sandcastles that looked unrealistically elaborate for a child to build, impossibly beautiful mothers and daughters in skimpy bathing suits and bikinis were laying out under sunlight to get a tan, and fathers were tossing Frisbees with either their sons, or with their pets. Most of these images were presented as stock footage.

One of the terrorists gave a signal, and the group moved…

…but in the next moment, before this terrorist could scream out a charge, a single round crunched through his skull, and he dropped to the ground as blood unrealistically sprayed forth from the hole, as if he had garden hoses for veins.

Each and every one of the terrorists were then stitched up with bullets in a wildly vivid display of gory violence, bleeding from their fatal wounds in the same manner. A couple of them tried to get a few retaliatory shots off, but they were clearly unable to hit anything before being shot down by their unseen assailant.

The image panned over the bloodied, mangled bodies of the dead terrorists before a crash of music heralded the appearance of a girl leaping up into and towards the picture frame in an amazing-looking somersault before striking a cheesy, mid-air action pose straight out of an opening to an anime'. Stylized caption graphics finally identified this honey-haired, pig-tailed girl, who was armed with a smoking AR-15 Assault Rifle, and was dressed in an army green and camo-aspected version of a full black-and-white maid uniform:

 **BATTLE-MAID**

 ** _ATHENA!_**

 **Teaches you how to win  
** **a Battle Royale!**

"Athena" landed in front of a large american flag, which served as the _Patton_ -like backdrop for the entirety of the tutorial that followed, which the Battle-Maid began with a cute and chirpy voice as she stood at attention and saluted, a full and perky grin on her face.

"Hi, everyone!" Athena began. "I am Athena, your helpful Battle-Maid! Congratulations on becoming the FIRST Middle School class to be selected for the inaugural year of the official american Battle Royale! YAAAY!"

"WOOOH!" Cassandra, who was clearly enjoying the presentation, applauded along with Athena, glancing once to the mystified class with a giddy grin of her own.

"Your class has been taken to an isolated island." Athena continued as a large graphic birds-eye image of the island appeared in Chroma-Key behind her. "Everyone who lives and works on this island has been cleared out, and the buildings and landmarks you find here are free for anyone to use during the program." Blips appeared on the island image with headings like 'Infirmary', 'Gymnasium', 'Residence', and 'Workshop' could be seen as Athena continued speaking. "See if you can find buildings that will increase your survival chances!"

Cassandra noticed Issac quickly writing down things in a notepad he had quickly procured as flash close-ups of the landmarks played on the TV screen. "Don't bother, Mr. Meyer. They'll all be clearly marked on the maps you'll be getting."

"Fuck you very much." Issac silently replied, under his breath, as he put away his notepad and his pen.

"During the program, certain areas will become what are called Danger Zones." The island image now had solid white grid lines over it. "Any one sector on the island could become one of these zones, which will be announced by your Faculty Representative…" Cassandra waved to the class, grinning affably, in indication of who this was. "…so you can mark them on your Survival Maps. You'll receive an announcement every six hours, so listen for them! Hmmm…I know what you're thinking right now. You're thinking, 'what happens if I stay in a Danger Zone too long?' That's where the waterproof and shockproof collars you're all wearing come in! They'll also monitor your pulse so that we can see whether or not you're still fi…"

The image was paused. Captain Curahee quickly dropped the remote on the desk and pulled his sidearm, clicking off the safety and aiming right at the head of Mickey Palladino, taking a couple of steps towards Mickey as the T.D. jock suddenly blinked out of his impromptu nap. Loud, fearful cries and shrieks filled the air as everyone scrambled clear of him.

"Whoa! Whoa! Chill!" Mickey held up both hands in restraint. "I was just…"

A loud blast erupted from the barrel of Curahee's pistol.

The shot, however, skimmed painfully against the side of Mickey's head. It also ricocheted off a metal surface, and then lodged into the lower thigh of Walter Abilene, who screamed in agony as he collapsed out of his chair, clutching his now-bleeding leg. Mickey was also holding the bleeding graze mark at his head as Curahee kept the smoking pistol pointed at Palladino.

"Next time I see you nodding off," The Captain growled. "I won't miss on purpose."

He then safetyed and holstered his sidearm. Returning to the teacher's desk to retrieve the DVD remote as Annabeth and Issac hurried over to tend to Walter, who was still groaning in agony as the Captain resumed the video. Issac had his hand over the wounded boy's mouth to mute his cries.

"…ghting! If you haven't moved out of a Danger Zone in time, or we catch you misbehaving, we send a signal that will sound off a timed alarm on your collar. When the time runs out? BOOM! Phff, phff, phff!" Athena mimed an opened neck from which blood gushed forth.

Cassandra suppressed an amused giggle as the students reacted to this with considerable dread.

"That would be a pretty embarrassing way to lose," Athena noted. "so try not to let that happen to you, OK?"

Cassandra signaled for Curahee to pause the video. "It's Q&A time. You raise your hand, I answer your question. Go."

A visibly distraught and scared Molly Pulaski's timid-looking hand was the first to go up. "Do I get to go back home if I win?" she weakly asked.

"If you're the last person left alive after day three? You sure can." Cassandra answered. "I'll hope you've learned a few things from the experience as well. The President even added a stipulation to the BR act that if you survive, his administration will pay your way through whatever College you want to go to. Even if it's outside of the U.S. Tax-free, too."

William Han's raised hand was next to be picked. "I have to pee."

"Uh-huh. Nice try, Mr. Track-and-Field." Cassandra shot back as she smirked. "Wait for the program to start, and your name is called. Once you're out of the building, you can go wherever you want. Shit in a ditch, piss in a pond. I don't give a fuck."

LaShawn's hand was the next one Cassandra selected. "Why us? I mean…what, were we, like, the lowest-rank class or somethin'?"

"This is about the 56, isn't it?" Valerie Chung spitefully added, risking a retaliation. Curahee, however, didn't move, nor shout anything in response to this.

But he did level a very intimidating stare upon Val over the breach of conduct.

Cassandra just grinned as she stared back at Valerie. "Maybe." Her eyes then returned to LaShawn's. "I'm told it was an impartial lottery. Up to you if you want to believe them."

Surprisingly, Alejandro's hand went up. So did one of Cassandra's eyebrows as she picked him to make his inquiry.

"Where's _your_ collar? Why ain't _you_ in this, bitch?"

Cassandra walked right up to Alejandro and came very close to his face. The Captain's hand instinctively went to his gun, ready to draw, as she did this.

"Because unlike you," She defiantly replied. "I'm a human being."

"Says the woman who is forcing an entire class to kill each other." Vladis Jellinek remarked in his heavily-accented English. Nadia Wolinski, who was near him, nodded in agreement as he spoke.

Cassandra, however, cruelly chuckled. "I'd like to think of what we're doing as 'taking out the trash', Mr. Jellinek."

"Trash?" Trudi Malone was speaking now, forcing Curahee to sigh irritably. Cassandra held a hand up to him in restraint, however, shaking her head as Trudi continued. "But I'm a straight-A student! I'm on the honor roll!"

Cassandra tilted her head, feigning curiosity. "Can you make America great again?"

Trudi shrugged, the unexpected question taking her by surprise. "Maybe."

"Prove it, then. Prove you've got what it takes." Cassandra responded. "Survive the program."

By now, the inner rage of the well-liked LaShawn Hughes…the known protector of those typically tormented by school bullies…was building to the point where he was ready to explode. The only thing stopping him was that he was unarmed. He knew enough about how the BR program operated to realize that one of the big perks of the program was that they would arm him with a weapon.

He didn't care what it was. Even if it was as harmless as a paper airplane, he could at least use it to inflict as deep a paper cut as possible. He didn't care. LaShawn had already made up his mind. He was never going to play this sick game. He would never kill any of his friends.

Cassandra, on the other hand, had to go. He figured if his weapon was worthless enough, he'd go for the Captain's gun, aim it at Cassandra, and shoot as many rounds as it took to drop her, and then use the rest on the Captain.

He realized the other soldiers would shoot him dead in reprisal, but at least it would give the others a fighting chance to rise up and revolt.

But his moment needed to wait until he got his bag. They had weapons. For the moment, he had nothing.

So he stayed calm, and waited.

The raised hand of a scared-sounding Mike Zimmer was the next to be selected. "What about our families? Do they know we're out here?"

"They'll get something in the mail tomorrow morning." Cassandra answered.

"Don't expect them to save you." Captain Curahee added. "The President has a media blackout in effect on what we're doing here."

Margaret Turmell was the next to be picked for an inquiry. "You still haven't told us what happened to Mr. Parry."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about him. Not surprising." She then signaled to the Captain, who motioned to two of the black-clad soldiers at the door. They nodded once, and walked out of the room.

Cassandra kept speaking as a wheelchair…with a seated person completely covered by a thick black cloth…was rolled over to the space next to Emerson. "Consider this a lesson in the importance of holding your tongue, lest you lose it, when it comes to any notion of resisting the BR act."

Cassandra then pulled the cloth off. Loud screams of shock and horror filled the room.

Hubert Parry was frozen, in his rigor mortis, in the seat of the wheelchair. The full length of a World War II bayonet had been shoved through his skull, the tip emerging from his chin. His face was frozen in an open-mouthed expression of shock, his all-white eyes wide open. His entire head…and the shirt beneath it…was covered in his own dried blood. Some of it, near the entry point, was fresh.

Carl Porter lurched his head to his right as he vomited over the sight of Parry's corpse. The students began to rise in an attempt to escape, but the stationary black-clad soldiers came to life, holding up their submachine guns threateningly, keeping them all rooted to their spots. Some of the students…those who liked, if not loved, Hubert Parry…began to openly weep, but kept the sounds fearfully muted.

"Any more dumb questions?" Cassandra asked, receiving dead silence…save for the muted sobbing…as her reply. "Good." She then signaled for Curahee to resume the video.

"In addition to the things that you're allowed to take with you in your personal packs, each of you will receive a Survival Pack." Athena picked up the bag's contents, which were arrayed in front of her on a table. Among the items was a 12-gauge Mossberg shotgun. She indicated each as she described them. "These packs contain a handy flashlight, three days worth of food and water, a compass with a handy digital clock readout on it, your laminated survival map, and a single weapon. Not every weapon will be a gun or a knife, but bear in mind that if you do receive a firearm…" She then picked up the shotgun, peering into the area where its shells are loaded. Curiously, Athena then pumped the loader a few times, to no effect. "…they will _not_ have live rounds."

This generated a lot of surprised 'what's and 'huh's and more than a few 'what the fuck's from the students. Even Emma looked a bit shocked at this revelation.

Most of them just boggled their eyes in quiet disbelief as Athena continued, resting the shotgun on her shoulder. "You'll need to figure out who among the students has the ammunition for your firearm, and get it from them! Don't forget to say 'please'!"

" _Shut UP!_ " Captain Curahee roared, silencing the room's murmurs once more.

"Oh…and Battle Maid Athena needs to ask you all a very special favor." Athena added, looking a little sheepish. "Some of those packs contain pieces of every Battle Maid's weapon of  
choice. Could yoooou…find them all and put them together for me? If you do, I'll let you use my weapon during the program, _if_ you can find out where I left the ammunition for it!"

Shuya noticed, as he watched, that the video had clear and readable Japanese subtitles along the bottom for him to comprehend Athena's English dialogue. Obviously, the parts about firearms starting out empty, and the 'Battle Maid weapon of choice' thing, piqued his curiosity. These were fresh new ideas, and devious ones, at that. He figured the students might quite possibly kill each other over the ammunition for an empty firearm alone. He also surmised that the weapon Athena was using in the video's sick opening sequence…an AR-15 Assault Rifle…was the result when all the missing parts were combined.

Granted, it wasn't a Kalashnikov, but it would have to suffice in the absence of one.

"The program will continue for a total of three days." Athena explained. "If we don't have one  
winner by the end of that third day, all of the collars will explode! Trying to force the collar off of your neck will also cause it to detonate, so don't bother trying to get them off on your own, OK?"

The DVD was paused once again. "One last thing…and this is really, really important."

The room was dead quiet as they waited for the 'last thing' to emerge from Cassandra's lips.

The older woman smiled sweetly. "Have fun."

"Man, I ain't _doin'_ this shit!" Trey Coolidge openly griped.

"You _HAVE TO!_ " Emma hollered, snapping her head in Trey's direction.

"The alternative is that we kill you all right here, and right now." Cassandra noted. "Don't think we don't have enough bullets among these soldiers here to put you all on a slab, either. While you're here, you might as well put up as good a fight for your lives as you can. So stop bitching and moaning about 'not wanting to do this', and show us what you're made of."

Two green-painted metal trolleys containing rows of green military packs were then rolled into the classroom through one of the doors by the black-clad soldiers, and they were positioned against each other next to the teacher's desk, forming a single line full of survival packs…in various sizes…hanging idle.

The Captain then resumed the video.

"Listen up, maggots! It's time to deploy to the battle zone." Athena announced, standing at attention in front of the American Flag background. "I'll be sending you out one at a time, so when I call your name, call out a nice big 'HERE'! Once the first person is out in the zone, the  
program will officially begin. Good luck, and fight hard!"

Moriah quietly went through her personal pack to procure the box of feathers as Athena continued. Martin Norris checked his sneakers to be sure they were laced tight. Gloria Angel pulled the crucifix from around her neck and crossed herself with it, giving it a kiss before putting it back around her neck.

"We'll start with the Grand Prize Winner of Battle Royale sponsor _Survivalist Weekly_ magazine's 'Ultimate Dare' contest!" Athena's voice was tinged with excitement at this proclamation. "If he wins the Battle Royale, he can trade in his solid gold weapon for biiiig money! All the way from the badlands of Middle School 226, it's Boy #7, Martin Norris!"

Cassandra had a slight smile on her face as she pulled a pack that had been separated from the others. Martin made his way through the students and went straight for the pack. Cassandra casually handed it to him, earning a wink from Norris before stepping out of the classroom's open door. When he stepped out into the hall, he saw a line of soldiers similar to those in the classroom flanking his path. He ignored them as he rushed through towards the school's front entrance.

 **THE GAME BEGINS  
** **~DAY ONE~  
** **12:57 A.M.**


	4. III: Deployment

**III: Deployment**

 _"_ _Get a good look, folks. This is a specially selected bunch of losers!"  
_ _The TV Reporter, "Battle Royale II: Requiem"_

"Now, it's time for the rest of you maggots to deploy to the hot zone!" Athena's tone went neutral as she called off each name. "Boy #1. Walter Abilene."

Walter rose to one leg, and began limping forward, trying to ignore the pain. When he neared the classroom's exit, a soldier stationed by the bags threw one of them, hard, at Abilene, who collapsed back down to the ground upon being struck with it. The wounded student groaned in agony, trying not to scream.

Captain Curahee, however, was unsympathetic. He began clapping at Walter loudly in his cruel motivation, trying to hurry him along. "COME ON! NO PAIN, NO FUCKIN' GAIN! LET'S GO!"

Despite a pounding headache, Walter was able to get back up and painfully limp his way through the soldiers towards the door.

"Girl #1. Gloria Angel."

"Here!" Another kiss to her golden crucifix, and Gloria hurried over to catch her pack. Turning to face the class, she traced the shape of the cross in the air in front of her. "God be with all of you."

She then hurried through the stationary soldiers in the school hall towards the exit.

"Boy #2. Trey Coolidge."

Trey's hateful eyes were on Cassandra as he moved towards the soldier with his bag. He kept his eyes on the woman as he grabbed the bag that was tossed to him. As he headed out, he noted that whatever was in his pack was big, and oddly-shaped.

"Girl #2. Valerie Chung."

Heaving a nervous sigh, Val moved towards the front of the room. With a look of pure contempt, she stopped in front of Cassandra to flip the bird right in her face as she spoke. "Here."

A long, hard object within the bag struck her chest as it was thrown to her, and she hurried out of the classroom.

"Boy #3. Patrick Dane."

Rolling his head around to loosen himself up, he slipped off the top of the desk he was sitting on, but his arm was grabbed by Herman Krieger, temporarily stopping him. "I find you. Be careful out there."

"I'll look for you." Pat replied before hurrying over to get his pack. He then made his way through the silent, stationary soldiers flanking the hall.

"Girl #3. Natalie Cross."

With a hateful, spiteful look, Natalie stalked towards the packs to receive hers. She then turned to face the Captain and Cassandra. "You better hope I don't win, you fucking butchers."

The Captain didn't even look at her as he responded. "Die well, freak."

"Yup." Natalie backtracked towards the classroom exit. "You sure will."

She hurried between the soldiers to head for the front entrance.

"Boy #4. Malcolm Derricks."

Malcolm was quiet as he headed over to get his pack, and kept his casual pace as he headed for the front entrance. His expression, however, was not much different from the masks of dread the others had before heading outside.

"Girl #4. Emma Curahee."

Emma finally rose from her chair, although she did so in a rigid, military fashion. This was typical of Emma's personality. Even at her Middle-School age, she was an army brat through and through. She marched straight over to the Captain…her father…who had grabbed one particular bag and formally handed it off to her when she stopped in front of him, standing at attention.

"Don't let me down, honey." Her father quietly remarked.

Emma responded with a salute. The Captain saluted her back, and she hurried out the classroom door, jogging as if she were tasked to run alongside a platoon of soldiers by a Drill Sergeant.

Carl Porter, who was near Adele Nurmi, looked a little confused as he watched this particular exchange. He whispered as quietly as he could to Adele. "What the fuck was that about?"

"You don't know?" Adele whispered back. "That Captain guy is Emma's Dad."

One of the masked soldiers called to them. "Quiet!"

Carl raised his hands in his compliance, stepping away from Adele.

"Boy #5. Peter Ellis."

After grabbing his personal bag, a very tired-looking Peter hurried over to get his pack, which was thrown at him. He staggered back a bit from the impact, but he remained on his feet. He ignored the Captain and Cassandra completely as he headed out of the classroom.

The only thing on his mind was reaching the workshop area, and reaching it alive.

"Girl #5. Annabeth Grant."

Passing Alejandro, she heard him murmur "Ju first on my shit list, _perra_."

Her thoughts, however, were on Walter as she caught her thrown pack and headed out, ignoring the ominous warning.

As she made her way through the soldiers, however, the name of the next student called hurried her steps noticeably.

"Boy #6. Alejandro Espina."

Sharing a parting kiss with Gina Salazar, Alejandro rose up and drifted over to get his pack. He then turned to the rest of the class.

"You all gonna _die._ " Alejandro declared. "I'm gonna _win_ this thing, meng."

And off he went.

"Girl #6. Moriah Houk."

Moriah securely fastened the red-gemmed feather…the one worn in times of war, according to her grandmother…before scooping up her personal pack and heading over to grab her pack. Her first thoughts were of Walter and Annabeth as she headed out.

She hoped her weapon would be something useful, and not a firearm. Feeling at her pack on the way out, she was able to pick up on a sharp, solid edge, and a handle about the size of her forearm.

A slight smile played on her lips as she hurried towards the open entranceway.

"Boy #7. LaShawn Hughes."

His face looked grim as he stalked forward to get his survival pack. He had already made up his mind to resist the game. It was now time to see how he would lash out. He hoped it would not be a firearm, but even so, he could try and bludgeon Cassandra Emerson to death.

Quickly groping carefully around the pack, he picked up on a sharp edge. _Perfect._ He thought to himself. He began to slow his advance towards the open school entranceway as he heard the next student's name called out on the video.

"Girl #7. Destiny Lopez."

Attentions were diverted. It was now or never.

LaShawn dropped to a knee and unzippered the pack. Spotting the weapon…a stainless steel meat cleaver…he grabbed it by the handle and raced back towards the classroom before any of the soldiers in the hall could stop him.

"YOU'RE _DEAD,_ BITCH!" LaShawn hollered as the soldiers in the classroom…and those who hurried in from the hallway…surged upon him, grabbing him immediately and securing every limb on his body. Destiny stopped in her tracks in her surprise as the rest of the students in the room began to rise up…

…only to be held where they stood by any soldiers not keeping LaShawn restrained. Their submachine guns were raised. One of them fired a loud, three-shot burst into the ceiling as a warning which sent them all back to their seats, or to the floor.

Cassandra…LaShawn's target…casually dug a hand into a pocket of her dress, pulling out a black remote control. Upon spotting this, Captain Curahee grabbed a handful of LaShawn's hair and pulled it back, exposing his collar.

Cassandra smirked. "I had a feeling you'd try that kind of thing. You're a special kind of stupid, aren't you?"

Cassandra then aimed the remote at the restrained student and pressed a button, causing the red sensor on LaShawn's collar to come to life, emitting a steady beeping noise as it glowed in ominous red pulses.

The soldiers held the squirming LaShawn fast as the collar's beeping noise began its build-up to detonation, the flashing blips gradually increasing in their frequency.

Mike Zimmer watched in horror. "LaShawn, no! Just go on out there!"

"No fuckin' way." LaShawn defiantly growled as he struggled against the soldiers holding him. "I ain't doin' this shit! I ain't killin' my friends, bitch!"

Cassandra just sat and watched…and even yawned…as the beeping went faster, reaching the moment in which it would detonate within seconds. She could see tears streaming down LaShawn's face as he continued to fruitlessly flail and writhe defiantly.

And all she did in response was to maintain her cruel smile as the timer beeped its last couple of seconds.

"Let him go." The Captain commanded, positioning himself in front of LaShawn.

Once the soldiers released him, Curahee fired a front kick, slamming his right boot in the T.D. member's chest, sending him staggering back as the doomed student squeezed his eyes shut.

The explosion was confined to his neck, blowing a big hole open and sending a spray of blood forward as LaShawn staggered towards…and then collapsed on…Michael Zimmer.

The dead athlete's blood poured all over Mike's shirt as he screamed along with everyone else who lamented the passing of the program's first victim.

The room went quiet as Zimmer sobbed, hugging LaShawn's body as it went limp. All those in the class who called LaShawn a friend…and there were many…also wept. Shuya…reminded of how his good friend, Kuninobu, had died…also had a look of sympathy on his face as he gazed at Zimmer holding the dead body of LaShawn Darren Hughes.

 **Boy #7 Hughes – dead  
** **41 to go**

Curahee's eyes went to Destiny Lopez. "You." He commanded, pointing to her. "Get your pack and get out. Now."

Destiny nodded and hurried over to get her pack. She may not have been crying, but she was now scared out of her mind over how serious the situation clearly was. Everyone left in the classroom now knew that this was no elaborate prank or practical joke. The Battle Royale was real.

In three days, everybody in the class…save one, if there would be one…would be dead.

Vladis Jellinek was called forth, followed by Trudi, who made an effort to look brave despite her fears, which she knew was a path to the dark side. Ron Jorgensen was deployed, followed by Yolanda Martinez. One boy, one girl. They all had somber and/or scared faces as the survival packs were shoved at them by one of the masked Black Ops soldiers.

Herman Krieger's pack was carefully handed off rather than tossed, or hurled. Herman's first thought was to link up with Patrick Dane as he headed through the hallway outside the class. A frightened Anaya Mukherjee, who now looked very paranoid, was the next to hurry out of the school.

"Boy #11. Issac Meyer."

Regretfully closing his eyes upon hearing his name, he let out a long sigh as he rose up. The concerned eyes of all of his friends that were still in the room were on him as he went to get his pack with a casual pace.

The silence was interrupted by the loud, impatient clapping of Captain Curahee. "COME ON, LET'S GO, LET'S GO! DOUBLE-TIME IT!"

"Patience is a virtue, Captain." Issac calmly shot back, without so much as a glance to the Captain, after catching his survival pack.

" _NOT IN_ _MY_ _BOOK, IT ISN'T!_ " Curahee hollered back as Issac made his way through the soldiers in the hall.

The disgusted Captain sighed as he resumed the video. "Goddamn hebe."

Violet Noda was next to be called up. When she got hers, she angled a hateful look to Shuya. A murderous glance. The others seemed to think Violet had confirmed her first target.

All Shuya did was to emotionlessly stare back at her.

Shuya noticed that the pack that was given to Kevin Mintner resembled the one that Shogo Kawada insisted on taking in exchange for the pack he initially received.

That particular pack contained a fully-loaded shotgun.

Adele Nurmi was irritable when her name was called, and the look on her face mirrored her complete disgust over the situation she was being forced into. She glared at the army officer as she approached the front.

She went right up to his face as she screamed. "FUCK YOU!"

When the pack was shoved at her, she responded by spitting right in the black-masked face of the soldier. She then raced out. The soldier, clearly pissed over this unexpected response, began to move after her, but a barked-out order from the Captain kept the angered soldier in place.

Manuel Ortiz was next. He angled a glance to Gina Salazar as he received his pack. He was in a lingering daze of disbelief as he approached the school entrance. Molly Pulaski's pack, like Herman's, was handed off carefully before the frightened young student hurried out of the school.

Mickey Palladino managed to goose Krystal Riley as he went to the front after hearing his name. He also slapped the back of Mike Zimmer's head…hard…with a self-satisfied smirk before getting walloped in the face with the survival pack that was thrust at him. Upon recovering, he turned to face Zimmer.

He pointed to the mullet-haired student with an index finger, and then ran the index finger across his throat, before turning away to jog towards the school entrance.

Once Krystal Riley had gotten her pack, giving Mike Zimmer a glance as she headed out to the hall, Athena spoke the next name in Japanese, the subtitle of which was in english.

"Boy #15. Shuya Nanahara."

All eyes were on the Wild Seven's leader as he let out a loud sigh and slid off the paired desks to get his survival pack. The soldiers in the room had their guns pointed at him as he moved. The students looked at him with expressions seeming to indicate that they either wanted him to be the first to die, that they wanted to keep clear of him until they were forced to face him, or that they were wondering if Violet Noda would be the one to kill him.

Captain Curahee just gave him a spiteful look, while Cassandra smirked. She had Curahee freeze the TV image.

"Remember…that jap killed innocent men, women, and children." Cassandra reminded as Shuya left the room. "They're not calling him the Butcher of Tokyo just to be stylish."

"What makes you think you are any different?" Hamid Ranganathan countered.

Cassandra grinned. "I'm an educator. Not a monster, like him."

She then signaled for Curahee to resume the video.

"Boy #15. Carl Porter."

Carl looked empty and lifeless as he slowly drifted over to the classroom exit, not acknowledging anyone at all as he grabbed the Survival Pack thrown at him, and ignoring the Captain as he hollered at Carl to move faster. Gina was just the opposite when she was called next, although it was more out of an eagerness to hurry out and link up with Alejandro before anything happened to him.

Hamid's exit was eventless, although he looked aghast over being forced to do this. Margaret looked a little scared out of her mind, and hoped to make a good distance from everyone as she went to get her pack.

William Han left disgustedly, dropping one of his customary F-bombs when he heard his name, and was already jogging as fast as he could towards the school entrance once he got his pack.

There was a large yellow wet spot at his crotch as he left, as well.

Deidre Vandervelde didn't immediately move from her seat when she was called, as she was still in disbelief. Captain Curahee had to physically pick her up and push her towards the soldier waiting to toss her Survival Pack towards the goth girl. She left the school hoping to quickly link up with Adele.

Lorenzo Trujillo hurried out looking eager to begin a hunt, while Captain Curahee couldn't resist a slight chuckle as Aduke rose from her seat.

"Talk about an easy target." The Captain mused.

"Yo' mama's an easy target." Aduke shot back as she caught her pack. "Prob'ly a low-class slut, too…or is she back home, doin' yo' dishes, like a good ho?"

Despite his evident anger, and a look that would kill Aduke if it could, the Captain remained where he was.

"Boy #19. Vincent Willits."

Vincent had a smirk on his face as he rose from his seat. "Time to hunt me a hindu."

After receiving his pack, he began a slow jog out of the school.

"Girl #19. Nadia Wolinski."

Nadia's pack hit her right in the chest. The impact from the large item inside…whatever it was…made her wince in pain, but she managed to keep a firm grip on the pack as she hurried out.

"Boy #20. Michael Zimmer."


	5. IV: Into The Kill Zone

**IV: Into The Kill Zone**

 _"_ _Life is a game. So fight for survival, and see if you're worth it!"  
_ _\- Mr. Kitano, "Battle Royale"_

 **2:00 A.M.**

Despite being covered in the blood of LaShawn Hughes, and sporting a visible bruise from a vicious punch to the face by Captain Curahee when he tried to lash out vengefully over LaShawn's death when Battle Maid Athena finally called his name, Mike Zimmer just staggered forward once he was out of the school.

Scanning the darkened terrain, he saw that the area beyond the school had a lot of grasslands, with what looked like an expanse of forests on the horizon. He also heard the sounds of crashing waves as well, which indicated that the school might be near a shoreline.

He knew enough about the Battle Royale to be aware that the programs were held on islands. He wondered what island they were on, and how close it might be to a mainland area.

Mike's thoughts were also of LaShawn, and all those times he had protected him from bullies, even if there were members of the T.D. gang LaShawn was in who were themselves bullies. Finding a bit of foliage that was tall enough to try and hide himself in, he lowered to a knee and pulled the zipper on his survival pack.

The food took the form of three large plastic packets, each of which contained a thick sandwich cut into three pieces, and three large bottles of water. A large black metal flashlight was also in the pack, as was the compass, the laminated map(which had a black marker attached by a cord)…

…and a pot lid.

Mike sighed in irritation, hanging his head. " _Damn_ it _._ " He hissed.

He was then violently grabbed from behind and shoved to the ground. Fearfully looking up, he saw Letitia Yeardley glaring down at him. She had pinned his wrists to the ground, while the rest of her rubenesque body weight kept Mike's lower body restrained.

"I'm takin' _alla_ yo' shit, yo." Letitia angrily remarked. "I had a feelin' yo wimpy ass would be close."

She then saw the 'weapon' in Mike's right hand.

"Whaz dat? Huh?" Letitia mused. "Dat yo weapon? What'cha gonna do wit dat, white boy? Play frisbee? Dat shit ain't even sharp!"

Mike kept quiet. His eyes were closed, expecting to be the first to die.

"LOOK AT ME, BOY!" She suddenly screamed. Right in his face.

"Oh, just kill me." Mike whined. "I don't give a shit."

Letitia shook her head. "Man, you ain't _worth_ it, sissy boy. I'm takin' yo pack an' everythin' in it. Only thing I don't need is what y' got in yo hand, 'cause I don't need no dumb-ass pot lid."

Even after the larger black woman released Mike, he remained lying there as she helped herself to the contents of Zimmer's pack. Perhaps she never bothered him during their school days because she knew LaShawn was protecting him. Now, of course, that protection no longer existed.

"Well, whaddya know." He heard Letitia say, hearing the sound of metal sliding against metal, and then a couple of ominous clicks. "Perfect fit. You fucked now, boy. Get up."

 **Girl #20 Yeardley – Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"** **That is my ammo, this is your gun."  
** **Discover the secret to acquiring ammo  
** **for BR-USA firearms**

As Mike rose, he turned to face Letitia. In her hands was a gun, and it was pointed right at his face from a short distance.

"No, no. Stay on yo knees." Letitia commanded. "An' drop dat pot lid."

Mike released his weapon. As much as he had effectively surrendered to this bullying girl, he really didn't want to die. Not this way, at least. He began to quiver with fear. He had never been shot before. Never felt the pain of a bullet. In this moment, the possibility seemed inevitable.

"Pull off yo pants, geek." Letitia grinned. "They dirty. Take off yo top, too. You gon' be runnin' 'round in yo underoos, white boy, or I'm gonna _waste_ yo ass right now."

As Mike began undoing his pants, however, Letitia's eyes were then distracted by a red light flickering in her eyes. A pinpoint of strong laser light.

She had seen _The Terminator_ enough to know what this could mean. A laser-sighted weapon. A look of terror was now on her face.

"Oh shit…oh _shit!_ " She grabbed her survival pack, and Mike's, and raced away.

Mike was mystified. What was that, he wondered? Who else would want to save his life? Was it a T.D. member? Maybe Kevin Mintner?

Re-latching his slacks, Mike peered up and looked around curiously. He could not see anyone nearby. The laser light was gone.

Maintaining his look of utter confusion, he noticed that his map, his flashlight, and a single food pack had fallen out of his open pack when Letitia dashed off. He quickly grabbed it, turned on the flashlight, and hurried away, grateful to whomever it was that had scared off Letitia Yeardley.

Even if she now had a fully-loaded firearm.

* * *

Not too far from Mike Zimmer's position, Walter Abilene sighed in his relief as Annabeth Grant looked around for a fallen branch big enough for him to bite down on. "Jesus…it _worked._ " Walter whispered to himself.

Walter's weapon turned out to be a Laser Light Pointer. He remembered overhearing Letitia say something a few weeks ago about how she was freaked out over the first _Terminator_ movie, and that she shared a nightmare with her clique of three friends about how she woke up one morning to see an emotionless Arnold Schwarzenegger holding a gun to her face, the laser sight on his .45 Long-Slide shining right in her eyes.

Annabeth's weapon turned out to be nothing more than a Butter Knife.

She knew enough about First Aid, however, to be able to use this in an effort to extract the bullet lodged in his lower thigh. The pain was really getting to Walter. He wanted that bullet out, even if it meant sacrificing his position to whomever might have wanted to kill him.

Both of them kept their voices silent as they positioned themselves near a large tree. Annabeth handed a small, but thick branch to Walter. "You'll need to bite down on this, Walt." She advised. "I haven't got any painkillers on me, so this is really gonna hurt."

"It's OK." Walter wearily responded. "Pain'll probably knock me out anyway. Do what y' have t' do."

Annabeth nodded. Walter chose to look away, not wanting to see the potentially gruesome work Anna needed to do as he placed the branch between his teeth.

"And try not to make too much noise. The branch should help with that." She then brought the knife close to the bleeding wound, which she had cleaned with one of her water bottles. "One…two…three."

Walter's pain was indeed terrible as the butter knife dug deeply into the wound. His eyes squinted shut, and he quietly groaned from the intense pain as his teeth bit down hard upon the wood at his mouth. Tears streamed down his eyes as the pain got worse.

Quietly watching them, a short distance away, was Moriah Houk. She had found them, but she chose not to reveal herself. In her right hand was the weapon she extracted from her pack.

A Hand Axe.

She scanned the area around them, intending to warn Walter and Annabeth if anyone approached them. Moriah had also hidden herself very well, having buried herself amid an area of deep foliage.

As Annabeth continued to work at Walter's leg, using her long fingernails in the continuing attempts to extract the bullet, which she had dug in enough with the butter knife to be able to try and pull out, Walter finally passed out from the excruciating pain.

Through a series of careful, steady pulls, Annabeth was able to extract the spent slug from Walter's leg, tossing it aside. She then drenched the wound with water from one of her nine water bottles, and began cleaning it off. She used ripped-off portions of Walter's shirt to clean away the blood.

Anna then tore off a portion of her untucked shirt to serve as a bandage, which she tied around the wound. She had cotton swabs in her personal pack, so she was able to apply enough of them to the wound to suitably cover it, and then press against it with the makeshift bandage.

Walter remained unconscious as Annabeth's eyes returned to his face. She wiped it clean of the tears that had been streaming from his eyes, and the sweat that had formed during his ordeal.

What little water remained in Annabeth's water bottle was used to rinse off the blood on her butter knife. She dried it off with the fabric of her plaid skirt.

Although she had been asleep by way of the knockout gas on the bus, she still felt compelled to take a nap. With no one else around that she could see, she rested her head against the tree and closed her eyes, cradling Walter's own unconscious body as she slept.

Moriah, however, remained awake, effectively keeping a night watch on both of her friends.

* * *

Once Vincent Willits had found an area where he figured no one would spot him, he opened his survival pack and began rummaging through it, hoping to come upon a machine gun, or a pistol. Some kind of firearm.

What he found instead was a bag of what appeared to be small spikes. Upon the purple felt bag, written in white, was the word "CALTROPS".

He also found a box of what were identified as Crossbow bolts.

Although he was visibly pissed over not having what he had hoped for, he figured that stabbing the person he had hoped to get rid of during the game…Hamid Ranganathan…with one of the long bolts would have to suffice in the absence of a gun or a knife.

The solid blow to the back of Vincent's head was hard enough to put his lights out. Seeing that the T.D. jock was still moving, the girl who had snuck up behind him then slammed the shoulder-stock end of her weapon against Vincent's head a couple more times to make sure he was completely unconscious.

She ignored the bag of caltrops, but when she saw the box of Crossbow bolts, she was quick to seize them.

It was necessary, after all, for Nadia Wolinski to be able to use her own weapon in a manner other than knocking out a known school bully she never liked to begin with.

* * *

" _Coño!_ "

Alejandro was livid upon seeing the 'weapon' in his pack. It was nothing more than a hard, cylindrical object. A long, thick black tube with a small hole running through the center. He had hoped for something he could use as any kind of a club, or even something that could serve, or at least be honed into, a blade. He had hoped to get a firearm, so he could have a reason to wipe someone out for their ammo.

His weapon, however, was none of that. The best he could use it for was a makeshift bludgeon. Something to help smash in someone's skull with repeated blows.

It was otherwise worthless.

It was clear he needed a new weapon. Kill someone for it. He had done that kind of thing more than once…and had gotten away with it…when he was running with the gangs back home in Colombia. Before he and his family had moved to Ozone Park, New York.

For Alejandro Espina, those violent times were the good times for him. When he felt tough. Indomitable. When he could consistently prove that no one could fuck with him. He always had a blade, or some kind of weapon, on his person, too. He was always prepared to throw down.

So he knew he would not go without a more substantial weapon for long. His first instinct was to mug someone. Although it still bothered him that he didn't have something to make his efforts a little easier, he could always just throttle whoever he found. Break that person's neck with his bare hands, or when he had that person in a headlock. All he needed to do was get close enough to grab him or her.

He moved as stealthily as he could as he zippered his pack back up and began moving, knowing enough about urban warfare to stick to hardpoints. As some time had passed since being deployed, he figured one or more people might have been able to get ammo for their firearms by now.

And if they didn't, they were obviously dumber than he imagined. Or scared. He at least knew there were wussies among the students who would be more resistant to the idea of killing their classmates. He figured those would be the easiest kills.

He also had his vow to hold to. He was going to kill _everyone,_ he had said. He hoped to find someone with a loaded machine gun. Something manageable, like an Uzi. All these thoughts ran through his mind as he carefully roamed.

Perhaps even something archaic, like a bow and arrow. With a knife, he could actually _make_ one. He remembered his father teaching him how to do that one summer when he was younger. He just needed a knife.

He finally spotted someone. Someone familiar.

It was the russian girl. Nadia. Her back was turned, too.

Perfect, he thought. Such was Alejandro's mindset that he believed all russians were communists, and being half-Cuban, he knew all about the kinds of assholes communists were.

It was just a matter of getting close enough to strike. She was a few feet away, and she had dropped to one knee. He figured Nadia was among those wussies of the class who were scared out of their mind. She didn't look dangerous at all.

The edge of her peripheral vision, however, spotted him as he crept closer to her, giving her a terrible shock from the paranoia she had been suffering from after she had tearfully left the school. She quickly turned and aimed a loaded Crossbow at him.

Alejandro froze for a moment, taken a bit by surprise at the weapon she had been given. He tried not to let his moment of weakness show.

He also saw the fear in her eyes. He saw that kind of look in the eyes before. He figured Nadia had never actually killed someone before. He could see her shivering.

The half-Cuban student couldn't resist the urge to grin amusedly. He surmised that she'd be too scared to actually kill someone.

The impact felt like he had been dealt a solid and crippling punch to the chest as he recoiled from the hit. The bolt struck him hard.

And it dug deep, easily piercing his heart.

Shocked, Alejandro stared down at the crossbow bolt buried in him as he dropped to his knees. The area around the impact point quickly became drenched with his own blood. He began to heave ragged breaths as he looked up at a boggle-eyed Nadia, who still had her Crossbow aimed at him.

Unlike the last time he had been shot, he knew this was a wound that Gina could not fix.

Her second bolt buried into the corner of his right eye, near the bridge of his nose. His head snapped back from the impact, and Alejandro dropped, lifeless, to the ground.

Knocking out a school bully like Vincent Willits was one thing. His only crime was to torment and tease students like Hamid. Nadia had quickly accepted that Alejandro had to die. Particularly for his promise that he would kill everyone prior to leaving the school to begin the game. Being fluent in Spanish as well as her native Russian, she had heard him brag to his girlfriend about having killed people in Colombia, and he had described the murders in graphic detail, too.

She even saw Alejandro threaten students at school, between classes, with a concealed weapon.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Nadia hurried away from the program's first student-inflicted kill. For all the times she had seen Alejandro terrorize other students, and for all the times he had spewed hateful taunts at students like Hamid, Vladis, and herself, she felt a strange sense of vindication once the initial horror over having actually killed someone had passed.

 **Boy #6 Espina – dead  
** **40 to go** **  
**

* * *

Issac Meyer tried to hide his fear a few minutes after distancing himself from the school building. He wondered how his friends would take to the game. Would the very concept of being able to kill, and get away with it, forever change them?

He didn't want to be on his own, but there he was, still tightly gripping the empty .45 Magnum Revolver that was in his survival pack in his right hand. He didn't want to let his building sense of paranoia show in his face.

He wanted to see someone…anyone…that he knew and considered a friend. Even if he had to kill them later. How would he do it? What could he say? There was no way he could abide by what the program was forcing him to do.

His only real option as a descendant of Holocaust survivors was to resist this. He remembered the stories of the ZOB during World War II, and how the grimly-determined Mordechai Anielewicz formed an armed resistance group that staged a violent, but unexpectedly glorious revolt in the Warsaw ghetto.

It was a cause worth dying for, and so was resisting this cruel and ridiculous game.

A bright light, shining in his face, suddenly distracted his thinking, and he squinted. An adrenal rush compelled him to instinctively raise his weapon up towards whoever it was that lingered the flashlight on him.

"Identify yourself!" Issac called out.

The person holding the light now positioned the strong beam below her chin, revealing an ominous-looking semblance of the Japanese girl, Violet Noda. Her expression looked ashen as she stared back at Issac.

The jewish boy heaved a sigh of relief. Thankfully, he knew this was a friend. "Miss Noda. Good morning."

" _Konban wa._ " Violet calmly replied, turning off the flashlight. She then stepped towards Issac's position within the woodlands. She quietly sat on the cool soil next to him once she was close enough.

"I…couldn't help but see your reaction to our other…guest…from Japan." Issac carefully began, not being able to figure out what Violet might do now that she was close enough to lash out at him. "Do you…"

"He killed my parents." Violet interjected. "They were in one of the buildings he bombed four years ago."

Issac was silent for a moment, now realizing why she had such a look of utter hatred on her face at the mention of Shuya Nanahara's name. Issac was among those, however, who had a more sensible mind. He figured Shuya did that in response to his own Battle Royale ordeal, lashing out at a government that tried to kill him for the crime of being a Middle School student.

In his rashness, however, innocents were claimed in the violence of Shuya's revenge, and Noda's parents were obviously among them.

She clearly wanted revenge. Issac had a feeling there would be no way to talk her out of it, but a part of him felt that he should at least try.

"I'm…sorry, Miss Noda." Issac sympathetically began. "You must have really loved them to feel as you do."

"My…my sister…died…in the Shiroiwa Battle Royale." Noda was trying not to weep. She paused to dry her eyes, and regain her grim composure. She then turned her head to Issac. " _Why?_ "

Issac shrugged. "Fear, bad politics, bad politicians…" He pulled out one of the water bottles in his pack and held it out to Violet. "…take your pick."

Violet shook her head at the offer of water, but she whispered ' _arigato_ ' in response.

Her eyes then fell upon the pistol Issac had in his hand.

Issac smiled. "It's empty. Don't worry. Heck, I wouldn't shoot you even if it was fully loaded. You're a friend, and I quite frankly don't give a fuck what they want us to do here. I'd rather die myself, than kill a friend."

Violet, however, went into her pack…

…and pulled out a couple of quickloaders, which were cylindrical metal objects with a spring-based knob. Upon these two metal cylinders were twelve fresh bullets, six to each cylinder. The bullets looked like a perfect fit for his revolver.

She then held them out to Issac, who was initially hesitant to take them. "They won't fit my weapon."

He hoped having a loaded gun wouldn't somehow alter his resolve to resist the program. He hoped it wouldn't suddenly fill him with a bloodlust. He made an unspoken vow in that moment to never use it unless he had no other choice.

Opening the revolver's cylinder, he slid the bullets into their respective housings with the quickloader, and then released them from the loader with a twist of the knob. A small diagram that came with the weapon indicated that the gun had a safety latch, which Issac engaged once the bullet-loaded cylinder of the revolver was snapped into place.

He didn't quite know how to appropriately respond, but he generalized it in all of one word.

" _Mazel tov._ " He replied. "May I ask what _your_ weapon is, Miss Noda?"

Violet went into her own survival pack…and pulled out a submachine gun. A MAC-10, which was known for having a suppressor piece on its barrel. No such piece was on the barrel, and the ammo clip was missing.

Issac, however, knew in that moment where the weapon's clips were. Especially if Violet Noda…who was Girl #11, as Issac Meyer was Boy #11…shared the same student number, and that Violet was the one who had the bullets to his gun.

"I…think I might have something for you, Miss Noda." Issac carefully remarked as he opened up his survival pack. "In exchange for the bullets you gave me for my gun, the ammo magazines that came in _my_ pack should fit yours."

Issac pulled the two MAC-10 ammo clips from his pack…but while Noda held her hand out to receive them, the bespectacled student warily held the clips up, and out of her reach.

"You should know that I want to get an effort together to stop this BR thing." Issac noted. "I don't care what it takes, but I can't do it alone. Can I count on your help, Miss Noda?"

Violet did not immediately respond, still thinking about her desire for revenge against the Butcher of Tokyo.

"If it turns out that Mister Nanahara is not the man I might believe him to be, then obviously, we could take him out and avenge your parents. Especially now that we both have loaded firearms." Issac reasoned. "But you should know that there might be a chance that he could sympathize with our plight and join us. I'm willing to bet that he only did what he did in Tokyo _because_ he survived his Battle Royale. I agree that your parents didn't need to die in his response to it, but…"

" _Hai._ " The contemplative Japanese girl suddenly replied. "I will help."

Issac, smiling, now held the clips out for Violet to acquire. "Welcome to the resistance, Miss Noda."

 **Boy #11 Meyer/Girl #11 Noda – Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"** **Friendship!** ** _Friendship?_** **"  
** **Exchange ammunition for BR-USA Firearms  
** **without achieving a kill**

For the moment, her thoughts of revenge were set aside. After all…if what Issac had said about Shuya was true, then the concept of a resistance might lure him over to them.

Then it was just a matter of waiting for the right moment for her to finally kill the Butcher of Tokyo, no matter what her jewish friend surmised about him.

Another light shined upon them both, startling them.

"Issac?" He recognized the hushed voice of Peter Ellis. "Is that you, buddy?"

"You're a lucky man, Mister Ellis." Issac replied in his relief, rising from the ground and then turning to face Peter as he lowered his flashlight. "The both of us happen to have loaded weapons."

"Really?" Peter hurried in closer, cautiously looking around as he did. "Oh…hey there, Vi."

Violet offered a minor wave of her hand and a slight smile in response.

"Listen…Ron and I got a good look at that map." Peter explained, keeping his tone hushed. "We wanna try and find that workshop that's on there before anyone else does. Maybe you could…you know…cover us?"

Issac pulled his own map from the pack. Violet offered the bright beam of her flashlight as he scanned the printed, bird's-eye view rendering of the island terrain. Sure enough, there were landmarks, and one of them was clearly marked 'Workshop'.

"Hmm. Not too far from here, either." Issac nodded as he spoke. Stowing his map away, he looked to Peter. "And what kind of toy did you get, Mister Ellis?"

Peter smirked as he pulled a Screwdriver from his pocket. "It's fate, man."

"Indeed. The Gods of shop class truly smile upon you." Issac mused, somewhat sarcastically. "What about Mister Jorgensen?"

"He got something called a…uh…'Flash-bang'." Peter replied.

"Really? A stun grenade? Nice." Issac responded. "If he only has one, he shouldn't waste it." He held his hand towards Violet, who grabbed it so he could help her to her feet. "Let's get moving, then. You've got your cover, Mister Ellis."

Not too far from the positions of Issac and his friends, goth girl Deidre Vandervelde wandered fearfully since her departure from the school. Her long, black-highlighted, ginger-colored hair…two thin bunches of which hung down from pigtails she had created from them…waved gently behind her as she moved. Her various pieces of witchcraft-themed jewelry hung idly from her neck as her eyes…surrounded by an Egyptian-styled application of heavy eyeliner…scanned the surroundings in front of her.

She didn't want to go through this alone. She had only one person on her mind, and she hoped she didn't have to investigate the entire island before revealing the corpse of Adele Nurmi, the girl she had already decided she wanted to marry. Somehow. Some way.

As she made little adjustments to the black fishnets she wore beneath her school uniform, she heard the sound of movement. Rustling branches close to her position. Wide-eyed with fear, she pressed against a nearby tree, which was large enough to mask her presence.

Stepping near the tree was Kevin Mintner, one of the jocks of the T.D. Cradled in his hands was a Mossberg 12-gauge Shotgun. He was also slowly scanning the terrain, perhaps hoping to find his first victim.

Since the program started, Deidre did not hear any gunshots of any kind, so she figured his hunt wasn't going too well thus far. Although Deidre didn't socialize with Kevin much, he figured he was among that variety of jock who thought of girls like her and Adele to be freaks. Witches. Social outcasts.

She loved being a goth, though. Especially with times being as socially bleak as they were, with a President who was popularly intolerant of alternate lifestyles and cultures. He had already ranted publicly against initiatives intended to help the LGBTQ communities. Just another gray-haired, stuffy political fascist who felt society as a whole needed a closer connection to their Bibles. The very concept of rebelling against such inhibiting norms made her feel strong in her sense of personal expression. Being the way she was was her way of flipping the bird on the new President, and anyone who blindly followed him, thinking he could 'save their souls'.

"Kevin?"

Deidre recognized the voice of Gloria Angel immediately. Fortunately, her voice came from a direction that would keep Deidre's hiding spot secure. For the moment, at least.

She definitely listened in, though, as Kevin responded. "Oh, Gloria. Uhh…w'sup?"

* * *

Gloria giggled girlishly in response as she slowly moved towards him. "Look at you, sporting such a big, bad cannon."

Kevin grinned. "Which one?" He indicated his shotgun, and then his crotch. "The one I was born with is always fully loaded."

Gloria stopped, suddenly sighing irritably upon seeing Kevin reference his crotch. "That's disgusting."

"Oh, come the fuck on, Gee." Kevin countered. "When are you gonna lighten up about guys?"

"Don't try to justify yourself, _fornicator._ " Gloria angrily shot back. "People like you are just the kind of sinful garbage the world doesn't need."

"And who the hell do you think _you_ are, bitch?" Kevin now glared at the judgmental blonde. "What are you, my judge or something?"

"I watched you. Going through your pack, when you first opened it." Gloria kept her eyes on Kevin as she slowly paced back and forth in front of him. "You never did find any shells for that Shotgun, did you? Have you ever fired a shotgun before? Do you know how to load it?"

"Yes, and yes." Kevin evasively answered. "I went hunting with my Dad two summers ago. I even shot a deer. Two deers, in fact."

"Nice of you to spend your holiday executing weak, defenseless animals."

"Oh, go fuck yourself, Gee." Kevin's irritation was clearly growing, even though he had an empty firearm in his hands. "Go kill someone with a damn Bible or something."

An unsettling smile was now on Gloria's face as she fixed an ominous gaze on the young jock. "I can't kill someone with a Bible…" As she spoke, her right hand reached behind her, and the distinct sound of a blade being slowly unsheathed could be heard.

She then presented a very sharp and dangerous-looking Hunting Knife. "…but I can kill you with _this_ , fornicator."

Kevin's eyes widened in his surprise. She then lunged at him.

Sidestepping her charge, she recovered quickly and began to square off with Mintner, holding her knife tightly in one hand. He saw that a crucifix shape had been painted on both of the flat sides of the blade, presumably with red nail polish.

He tried to bludgeon Gloria with the shotgun during their fight, but he was unable to get a solid hit in. Contrarily, she was able to trip him up and wrestle with him down on the ground. Their arms locked as the blade came close to his face.

Kevin had never seen the savage, murderous look that was now on this otherwise very attractive girl's face, and she was surprisingly strong in her effort to try and inflict a cut upon him.

The blade managed to swipe a vicious nick just above his right eyebrow as they struggled, and she then lifted the knife to attempt a killing stab. Kevin managed to push Gloria off of him in this moment as the cut above his eyebrow began bleeding.

As he struggled to his feet, Gloria viciously fired her knife arm forward, and almost half of the blade's length buried into his lower right thigh, forcing the jock to cry out in pain as she ripped the knife back out. She managed to get a good hold on the shotgun after quickly placing the bloodstained knife between her teeth, and the two students were now tugging upon it, hoping to pull it away from the other.

But while Gloria was on the ground, Kevin was on his feet, and he lifted one of them. "Crazy _bitch!_ "

The stomp came down hard on her chest, the pain forcing her to let go of the shotgun, and he dashed away as fast as he could, his speed handicapped by the bleeding wound at his lower thigh. The empty shotgun was still in his hands.

Gritting her teeth in anger, Gloria rose up, scooping up the knife she had dropped, and she dashed after him. She, too, was handicapped from the hard blow to her chest. The both of them were practically staggering as they left the scene.

" _You're DEAD, fornicator!_ " Gloria hatefully screamed as she took off after him.

* * *

Deidre had her eyes fearfully squeezed shut during the entire exchange. It was clear now that the both of them needed to be avoided at all costs.

Assuming they didn't kill each other.

She stepped out from behind the tree, gazing ahead to see how far they went, or if they had stopped to continue their life-or-death struggling.

She was suddenly grabbed from behind, a hand slapping over her mouth. The hand was feminine. Deidre let out a muted yelp…

…but then, she caught the scent of clove cigarettes, and only one person in the entire class had that preference.

"Shhhhhh." Adele gently hissed into Deidre's right ear. "Relax, my love. It's your Addie."

Deidre quickly relaxed, heaving a sigh of relief after hearing Adele's tender, loving voice. She turned to face the object of her undying affection and immediately locked her black-painted lips with Adele's, her right hand caressing the ringlet locks of Adele's moist, shoulder-length black hair, which had purple highlights.

Adele's fingers rubbed at a bare portion of Deidre's neck, just above the steel collar, as she pulled away. "You're not wearing your choker, pet."

Deidre blushed. "I…I forgot it. I slept late. Needed to get to school."

"You naughty girl." Adele wagged her finger, shamefully, at Deidre. "If we get out of this, I need to punish you for that."

The goth girl sighed distressfully. " _If_ we can get out of this."

Frowning, Adele fixed her large, piercing blue gaze on Deidre's green eyes, holding her lover's head. "We _will_ get out of this. Fuck the damn game. All we need is a good weapon. What did you get?"

Deidre unzipped her survival pack and exposed her weapon for Adele to see.

Adele thoughtfully nodded. "That…could help, but…we'll need something…a little better than that. Did you see anyone with a firearm yet?"

"Yeah! Kevin Mintner." Deidre answered as she zippered her pack closed. "He had a shotgun. He's wounded, too. He was fighting Gloria Angel. She stabbed him in the leg with her knife."

"Mmmm. Mintner." Adele nodded thoughtfully. "Wait…did you say he had a shotgun?"

"Yeah, but it's empty."

Adele then unzipped her pack and pulled a closed box of shotgun shells from it. "And I have his ammo, which means that if we can get his shotgun, we can kick some serious ass with it."

"But…how are we gonna do that, Addie?" Deidre asked.

Once again, Adele dug into her pack, pulling out a plastic bottle and a rag. "With this."

Adele turned the bottle until Deidre could acknowledge the label, which read 'Chloroform'.

"The two of us could sucker that horndog into dropping his guard." Adele explained. "Then we hit him up with the Chloroform, knock him out, take his gun, load it up, and blow his fucking head off before he wakes up. Then we'll just lay low and wait for everyone to kill each other, and then wipe out whoever's left with all the other weapons they've got."

There was only one part of this plan that made Deidre nervous. "We're gonna _kill_ Kevin? He never bothered me."

A look of disgust was now on Adele's face. "Oh, trust me. He's a piece of _shit._ "

* * *

 _"_ _Ohhh, fuck! Hide me! Hide me, man!" Kevin Mintner feigned fear as freshman goth Adele Nurmi passed the group of jocks, who were laughing uproariously over Mintner's antics. "She's gonna turn me into a frog! BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH!"_

 _Mintner hurried over to Adele with a lighter, flicking it on and bringing it near the goth girl's hair with the apparent intent to set it aflame. "Burn, freak! BURN! BURN! BURN!"_

 _Adele now hurried away, leaving Mintner and his T.D. friends to continue laughing wildly, and cruelly, as the angry goth girl fled from them._

* * *

Adele brought her lips close to Deidre's. "We can do this." She tenderly whispered, rubbing her lips lovingly against Deidre's. "We can do this."

Deidre locked lips with Adele's once again, wrapping one hand around her waist and placing the other behind Adele's head, rubbing her fingers through her moist hair affectionately as they continued to kiss.

Adele grinned as she pulled back a bit. "I found a place big enough for us to…you know…"

"But…is it safe? I mean…will people be able to see us?" Deidre wondered aloud.

"Nope. We'll be nice and hidden. Space is a little crampy, but…at least we'll be lying down." Adele teasingly assured. "It can be just the two of us. Then, when the sun comes up, we'll come out and start our little hunt."

Deidre slowly nodded. "He could be dead already, y' know. Gloria really wanted to kill him."

Adele shrugged. "So? We'll go after Gloria if she takes the Shotgun."

As a short burst of gunshots rang out in the distance, Deidre pressed her head against Adele's distressfully. "I hope we can get out of here. I don't wanna do this. I don't wanna be here."

"We'll get out of this." Adele pecked at Deidre's lips softly. "Don't worry." She then grabbed Deidre's wrist. "C'mon, spooky. Lemme show you our little hiding space."

* * *

As the skies began to achieve lighter shades of blue in the onset of the morning's light, Letitia Yeardley compelled her latest acquisition to move, eager to share her impending, high-profile kill with her three friends.

Despite the fact that her prize couldn't speak a word of English.

"Go on, jappy!" Letitia pushed the barrel of her gun…a fully-loaded machine pistol…against Shuya Nanahara's back. "Keep movin'!"

As much as Shuya wanted to use his own weapon as a means to initiate a standoff, he knew a move like that would be potentially disastrous for him. The chase lasted for a good portion of the morning since he was spotted, but then Letitia fired a short burst from her Machine Pistol. He had to stop.

He still had his own weapon in his hands as Letitia led Shuya out of the woods, and into a large bed of grasslands that was close to a shoreline. The heavy-set student…Aduke VelJohnson…and Letitia's two other friends, Destiny Lopez and Yolanda Martinez, began approaching their friend and her stone-faced catch. Aduke had a police baton in one hand, while Destiny held what looked like a computerized device, and Yolanda had what looked like a small spray can in one hand.

"Well!" Aduke grinned. "Look what we got here! 'Tisha done caught herself some sushi!"

Obnoxious laughter ensued. Yolanda raised up her spray can. "Any last words before I blind you, _chico?_ "

"Oh yeah, right." Letitia mused. "Y' gonna spray wong kong fooey boy t' death, dat it? Fuck dat shit." She hurried over to stand in front of him. "He's _mine._ "

"You owe me, bitch." Destiny added, revealing her device to be a GPS Locator when she raised it up. "You wouldn't have found his ass without me tellin' you where dat _puta_ was."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll give ya dat sissy boy I got ma bullets from." Letitia turned her head back to Shuya, pointing the gun to his weapon. "Drop dat shit. I want you hands-free when I 'game over' yo ass, ching-chong."

Shuya tossed the weapon near Destiny, maintaining his neutral mask. His body tensed as he waited for a window of unavoidable opportunity. As much as he didn't know English, he did at least know how racist taunts sounded, and they were beginning to irritate him.

"If tofu boy had 'imself a fortune cookie, it'd say 'you gon' be _fucked_ t'day'." Aduke mused, provoking more obnoxious laughter.

Destiny, however, was looking impatient. She gave Letitia an impatient shove. "Well, go on, bitch! _Shoot_ dat _pendejo!_ "

"'Ey! I'm warmin' up here!" Letitia countered, still holding the gun up to Shuya. An idea came to her in that moment. "Git down on yo' knees, tofu!"

Rage was in Shuya's eyes by now. He remained on his feet, glaring at Letitia.

The young black student glared back, her eyes wide. "I SAID GET ON YO' _KNEES,_ ASSHOLE!"

Yolanda once again waved the projector side of the spray in front of Shuya. " _Ella dijo arrodilla…AAAAAGGH!_ "

The bones of the skinny girl's hand easily and painfully cracked as Shuya seized the spray and quickly turned it on Letitia, painfully wrenching the hand and streaming a shot which hit the heavy-set girl right in her face. It was indeed the pepper spray he had believed it to be.

The freedom fighter's instincts…honed through years of guerilla warfare…grabbed Letitia's gun as Aduke charged in with her police baton, screaming in rage.

Shuya catapulted himself backwards, pointing the gun at all three girls, and squeezing the trigger hard. Loud, violent bursts of rapid gunfire erupted from the loaded weapon's barrel.

Two shots cut into the head of Aduke VelJohnson, and she stumbled and collapsed to the ground, quickly expiring from the fatal wounds. The baton clattered over to where Destiny was standing.

Three shots lanced the neck of Yolanda Martinez, severing her windpipe. She dropped to her knees and began to asphyxiate.

Shuya's next angry burst impacted Letitia's face, and she staggered back until she dropped down to the ground, her bloody, mangled expression staring upwards in shock as her life signs faded.

Destiny had picked up Shuya's weapon…a black pistol…and she fired it before the captured guerilla fighter could aim back at her.

A stream of harmless water emerged from the barrel of the hard plastic toy gun. The water splashed against Shuya's chest.

Shuya's eyes were wild as he pointed the smoking gun at Destiny, who now looked terrified as she dropped the water gun.

"Don't make me kill you!" Shuya pleaded. "Let me have that GPS! I can help you! I can help you all fight this!"

Unfortunately, Destiny didn't understand a word of what Shuya was saying. For all she knew, he was demanding that he hand over the GPS device, judging by the way he had his hand positioned during his foreign chattering.

Her look of fear, however, was replaced by a need for revenge. A known terrorist…a killer…had just murdered her best friends. Destiny grabbed the police baton and charged forward, screaming a cry of rage.

"NOOOO!" Shuya screamed. But the former Shiroiwa student's instinctive fingers had already betrayed his sympathetic plea, squeezing off another burst. The stream of bullets stitched Destiny's chest violently, killing her in seconds.

Shuya dropped to his knees, sobbing over the craziness of his situation. He felt no different now from Kazuo Kiriyama, the wild-haired psychopath who had killed many of his friends during the Shiroiwa Battle Royale. Adding insult to injury, the BR-USA organizers had even dressed Shuya in a black Gakuran school uniform…the very same outfit Kazuo himself wore in the Shiroiwa BR program…prior to depositing Shuya's unconscious body in the classroom.

Four girls were now dead by his hand, despite his want to help them. He looked upon the corpses of the quartet. "I could have helped you." He growled, in japanese, through his tears. "I COULD HAVE _HELPED YOU!_ "

His hands went to his face in his effort to compose himself. The ordeal was not over. He knew it was only beginning, and they would start calling danger zones in a few hours. He rose to his feet, wiping away his tears, and stepped over to the GPS Device that was near Destiny's dead body, picking it up.

As it landed on soft soil, it was still intact. He also collected the pepper spray and the second clip of Letitia's gun. He also discovered that she had two survival packs, indicating that the pack had no doubt been stolen. Once he pocketed the extra ammo, he zippered this pack back up.

Only the police baton was left unclaimed when Shuya, driven once again by survival instinct, left the dead bodies of Letitia and her best friends behind him.

 **Girl #7 Lopez – dead  
** **Girl #9 Martinez – dead  
** **Girl #18 VelJohnson – dead  
** **Girl #20 Yeardley – dead**

 **36 to go**


	6. V: The First Report

**V: The First Report**

 _"_ _The thing people fear most isn't dying. It's being forgotten."  
_ _\- Shiori Kitano, "Battle Royale II: Requiem"_

 **5:50 A.M.**

Annabeth Grant believed that she would relax her eyes for only a few minutes. Just a short-term nap. She knew that if she ever fell asleep during the program, she might never wake up again. Especially with her and Walter Abilene in such an exposed position.

Annabeth, however, had fallen asleep.

It was a generous shaking at her shoulder that had finally roused her. Her closed eyelids slitted, and then opened wide, startled by the momentarily blurred image in front of her…

…which, when her vision sharpened, revealed itself to be Moriah Houk.

She looked a bit different here. Her face was covered in what appeared to be a pattern of dark-toned makeup. In her other fist was a Hand Axe, which had a trio of feathers attached to a cord tied to the end of the weapon's handle.

"…ake up! Hey! Beth! Get your ass up, girl!" Moriah whispered. "It's almost 6 a.m. They're about to give the first report."

The eyes of Walter Abilene, who was still resting on Annabeth's lap, began to flutter open as well. He was a little more weary compared to Moriah and Annabeth, but the pain in his leg was not as bad.

"Whuhh…w' timesss it…?" Walter quietly asked.

Annabeth checked the small digital clock located at the center of the compass, just above the needle. Pressing a button made it possible for the small readout to be illuminated so the time could be seen in total darkness. "5:53. Mrs. Emerson is gonna give us the first report of the day."

"Don't forget to mark your maps." Moriah advised. "She'll be reading off the first Danger Zones."

"How's your leg, Walter?" Annabeth asked.

"N…not as bad." The wounded boy answered. "Still hurts, though."

"If this area is called as a Danger Zone, we'll need to hustle, bad leg or not." Moriah noted.

Walter sighed. "Just leave me here then. I don't wanna slow you down."

"Don't talk like that, Walt." Annabeth gently chided.

"I don't wanna kill anyone." Walter lamented. "C'mon. Look at me. Do I look like the kind of guy who could end someone's life? If there was ever a time where I would actually prefer to fail one of old man Gebaide's pop quizzes…"

"We're not leaving you here, Walt." Moriah remarked, a look of conviction in her eyes. "Deal with it."

Walter squinted as he gazed back at his native american friend. "What's that on your face?"

"Oh, just a little something to help me blend in during the night." Moriah answered. "You know…like camouflage paint. If you run into me later tonight and we have a little time, I'll see about painting your faces up a little. It really does help."

Annabeth frowned. "You can't stay with us?"

"I have to get a lay of the land here, Beth." Moriah replied. "I've never been here before. I'll check up on you when I can, though.

After a long moment of silence, Walter lifted his upper body, a thoughtful look on his face. "I wonder if anyone died while we were asleep."

"I heard gunshots a couple of hours ago. Near the shore. A few screams, too." Moriah responded. "Something definitely went down while you were out."

Walter nodded. "Which means either Emma's dad wanted to get in on the game, or someone found ammo for their gun. So much for hoping that no one would figure it out."

Music suddenly blared from loudspeakers that surrounded the school. The sounds easily transmitted to every inch of the island. It was a bland, lyrics-free, easy-listening version of Gloria Gaynor's contrarily bouncy hit disco tune "I Will Survive".

The voice of Mrs. Emerson then blared through the loudspeakers, over the slightly-faded music. "Rise and shine, kiddies! Time to make your stay here a little more interesting! Freshen up a little, and have a quick bite to eat, while I read off a list of those few losers who earned themselves the honor of dying before this first report! You know how they say 'the lucky ones die first'? Well, these participants got _super_ lucky last night! Boy #6, Alejandro Espina. Hey…tough luck, Gina! I know you two were close!"

Gina Salazar's eyes boggled in her horror as she dried off her hair, choosing to use the salt water by the shore to bathe in with the soap and shampoo in her personal pack. She had been looking all over the place for Alejandro as she hunted down anyone who had the ammo for the Glock pistol she had in her pack. Coming up short so far, the news of her boyfriend's death didn't make things any better for her.

"No…!" She whispered in disbelief.

Contrarily, almost everyone else on the island who disliked Alejandro either heaved a sigh of relief, or had varying expressions of surprise. Nadia…his slayer…just sighed regretfully.

"…Girl #18, Aduke VelJohnson…Girl #9, Yolanda Martinez…Girl #20, Letitia Yeardley…and Girl #7, Destiny Lopez." Cassandra lowered the page, which was dubbed the 'death manifest'. "I never liked those girls anyway, and I'm sure there's more than a handful of you out there who are happy that Espina's gone. Oh…and congratulations to Letitia Yeardley, too. She earned the posthumous honor of figuring out the secret to getting ammunition for her firearm!" She then switched to speaking in japanese. "Nanahara! How does it feel to have the deaths of four young american girls on your hands? This just gives our country another fine reason to hunt you down and wipe you out!"

Shuya, sitting idle and alone in a small cave he had found, ignored Cassandra's badgering.

"Sorry, folks! Just saying 'hi' to our resident Butcher of Tokyo." Cassandra continued, switching back to english. "Seems he was the one who killed off Letitia and her friends. You could learn a thing or two about killing from a terrorist, folks! Oh, and speaking of learning, it's time for you all to learn where the program's first batch of Danger Zones are gonna be! Whether you've got your maps out or not, here they are. From 7:00, Zone B-15…"

Shuya sprang to life, rising from his sitting position within the small, dark cave and grabbing the packs he had collected to begin his departure from zone B-15.

"…from 9:00, Zone D-7, and from 11:00, Zone E-20." Cassandra lowered the Zone readout page. "As a 15 year old boy named Tony Daniels once observed, 'life's a bitch, and then you die'. So if you think this program is a bitch, or if you think _I'm_ a bitch, do yourselves a favor. Die well."

Lowering the microphone, Cassandra let out a long yawn as she stretched out her limbs within the large Faculty Room of the School that was being used as the primary surveillance hub for the BR program. Captain Curahee maintained a vigil at the large monitor, which presented a graphical representation of each of the island's zones. A smaller monitor beside it had the names and numbers of all of the surviving students in green-colored letters. Those who were dead were in red.

The Captain punched a few keys on a nearby keyboard, locating a zone of the island which had Girl #4…his daughter…lingering there.

She was in Zone D-7.

Curahee smiled. He had taught her not to freak out when faced with impending danger. As he had been observing her since he had relocated, along with Cassandra and some of the soldiers, to the Faculty Room following the departure of Letitia Yeardley, he was able to confirm that Emma was more or less left alone. A couple of signals had come near her position, but they diverted.

He knew, however, that she remained unarmed. She had yet to secure the ammo for the weapon which he knew was in her Survival Pack, along with the note he had left for her.

Cassandra sat upon the cot that was in the room. "Wake me when it gets close to 12 noon, Captain, will ya?" She rested her body against the length of the cot and then gazed up, thoughtfully, at the ceiling as her body relaxed.

Curahee, however, kept his eyes on the screen. He clearly heard Cassandra, but he chose not to respond.

His own eyelids began to droop shut, but they came to life once again when the GPS signal that represented his daughter…G4…suddenly began to move in a direction which, upon expanding to the larger map, would allow her to close in on GPS signal B4.

The Captain had no doubt that his daughter's weapon would become a fully-loaded one.

He even expected her to make B4 her first kill.

* * *

"…if you think this program is a bitch, or if you think _I'm_ a bitch, do yourselves a favor. Die well."

" _FUCK_ you, bitch!" Trey Coolidge cried out towards the direction of the speaker transmitting the voice of Cassandra Emerson. In one of his hands was his 'weapon'.

It was a megaphone. A bullhorn. Exactly the same kind of instrument teachers in elementary school used to demand attention and silence. A guarantee that they would be the loudest voice in a room full of obnoxiously chattering and screaming students.

"Man, this is just great." Trey wandered around, going into a field of tall grass as he continued his ranting. "They got us all goin' after each other, an' I get _this?_ " He indicated his megaphone. "How'm I s'posed t' win? By droppin' F-Bombs? _Fuck_ dat shit!"

Sighing heavily, he turned on the megaphone and blew a quick shot of his breath into the receiver, producing a sound not to far removed from a percussive beat.

The sound brought back memories of being with his friends back home, and even a couple of his friends with the T.D., his childhood friend LaShawn among them. One thing he liked about LaShawn was that he was a fantastic confidence-builder. Trey figured that if he couldn't make it as an athlete, he'd try to become a rap music artist. Perhaps even follow in the footsteps of Ice Cube and his buddies, who formed the N.W.A. rap group. LaShawn had demonstrated a talent for freestyle rapping, and Trey added a bit of beatboxing sounds to them.

It was those memories of beatboxing that came back to him through the sound he had produced on his megaphone.

One disadvantage to his dreams was that he wasn't as good as LaShawn at freestyling, although his T.D. buddy had never stopped convincing him to keep trying. No practice, no progress, as LaShawn always said.

"Now sit…right…back…" Thinking about how they were all stranded on an island made him think of _Gilligan's Island_ as he began freestyling. "…and you'll hear…a…tale…"

Trey stopped to think for a moment. Quietly thinking on possible lyrics for his rap for the next hour. What he came up with was…

 _Now sit right back…and you'll hear a tale…  
_ _A class of forty-plus…rigged to blow!  
_ _Pass or fail…death for sale…  
_ _All fucked up with no place to go!_

" _Shit,_ Trey…" He chuckled as he talked to himself. "…you can do better than…"

An unexpected rustling behind him was followed by a shot of extreme pain in the hamstrings of his legs. First at one leg, and then the other, forcing Trey to the ground as he screamed in agony. He was unable to see who was behind him, and he heard the apparent assailant sprinting away. Whoever it was did not say a single word as the hidden assassin fled.

He reached a hand down to one of his legs, feeling a drop run down one of his legs. Touching the source resulted in another terrible sting of pain. He had definitely been cut.

Or, more accurately, stabbed. The blade strikes had cut very deep, too.

Trey crawled over to his survival pack. He needed to look at the map. He knew the infirmary was nearby. The agony in his legs made his progress all the more painful as blood continued to leak freely from his legs.

Once he slapped a hand on his Survival Pack, his collar suddenly started beeping. It was the same dreaded beeping he heard before watching LaShawn's collar explode. The frequency of the beeping began to rise in its build-up to detonation.

His movements were frenzied now as he located his map and pulled it out. Mrs. Emerson had mentioned Danger Zones…

…but Trey had forgotten to mark them down!

The Infirmary was less than a mile to the right of his position. Mustering all the strength he could from his Football experiences, he began to crawl as fast as he could in the direction of the Infirmary.

But the collar never stopped beeping. The beeps were faster now. Trey managed to make out the side of a building within the trees, and a large First Aid sign upon it. He smiled.

A loud, violent bang at his neck followed, and the head of Trey Coolidge dropped to the soil as more blood gushed forth from the fresh wound.

The body twitched once before it stopped moving.

 **Boy #2 Coolidge – Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"** **STAT!"  
** **Discover the BR-USA Infirmary**

 **Boy #2 Coolidge – dead  
** **35 to go**

* * *

 **MALCOLM DERRICKS  
** **HAS YOUR AMMO**

Emma Curahee recognized her father's all-caps handwriting easily when she found and read the note in her Survival Pack. After setting up a makeshift alert system out of discarded old cans and a length of string that she found, she had opted to take a nap amid the remnants of a broken building she had discovered, with the Uzi Submachine Gun in her lap. She knew that if it came down to a struggle, she could take a person with a blade, given the hand-to-hand combat training her dad put her through as she was growing up, and even if the Uzi had no ammo, she could still use it as a sturdy bludgeon.

After finishing her morning meal, and engaging in rigorous calisthenics during the first report, she took a moment to mark her map, and then set forth to continue her hunt for Malcolm Derricks.

She had moved about the island during the early morning hours as stealthily as she could, keeping herself concealed. She had stalked Gloria Angel for a bit, hoping to take her from behind and break her neck, but Emma chose to disengage when she saw how surprisingly violent she was during her encounter with Kevin Mintner. She resolved to hold off on another attempt to eliminate Gloria Angel until after she had her first nap.

She had also scoped Mike Zimmer, who was fearfully treading about, and apparently without his Survival Pack. Deeming him too easy a kill, she resolved to save him for later. Perhaps even make him her first distance kill with a spare Uzi round. As much as she didn't really have any kind of a beef with Zimmer, this was the closest thing to a war that Emma would fight, and any kind of war is hell. Casualties were practically a fact of life, and only the strong deserves to survive.

Or so her father had conditioned her to believe as he raised her following their separation from her mother.

Malcolm Derricks, on the other hand, became her priority of the day. As he was more of a bookworm than any kind of athlete, she figured this would be as easy a kill as she imagined Mike Zimmer would be.

It was just a matter of finding him.

Emerging through a small forest of trees, Emma came upon an open, circular area of grasslands, within which was a large, pale white rock, partially embedded in the ground.

A pair of familiar-looking ammunition magazines that looked to be a perfect fit for the ammo chamber of her submachine gun had been placed upon the rock.

Her first instinct was that the crafty young student had set some kind of a trap, or even a lure. She shook her head, smirking. She figured that the clips were empty.

Emma nevertheless trudged forward, carefully, towards the ammo clips. They didn't look like they had been tampered with.

In a darkened brush a short distance behind Emma, Malcolm moved as quietly as he could, wearing a headpiece he had made out of fallen leaves. Naturally, his own version of camouflage, which he had learned from watching modern, military-themed action movies. He matched Emma step for step to mask his own movement.

In his right hand was the weapon that was in his pack: an Icepick.

He figured a good, hard stab to the back of her head would wipe her out. He just had to remember to bring the Icepick down as hard as he could. If he missed and struck her back, he'd just keep stabbing and stabbing until Emma stopped moving.

Once Emma began moving towards the ammo clips, Malcolm began carefully stepping towards his prey. Just as he had hoped, she was gonna take his bait. The really tricky part was sneaking out towards her in the light.

The grip of the person behind Malcolm was strong. Whoever it was, he…or she…had covered Malcolm's mouth and pulled back his Icepick hand in one motion, falling to the ground. As Malcolm groaned and grumbled in his surprise, he heard a male voice shushing him from behind.

Emma had whipped her head around behind her, stopping in her tracks. She was looking right in the direction of the sounds she had heard.

The distance she had walked, however, made it difficult for her to see anyone in the darkened brushes she had gone through clearly. She definitely heard the rustling, a bit of the grumbling, and the shushing. With a wary expression, Emma turned her eyes to the ammo and reached out to grab the clips. Confirming that there were indeed bullets in the clips, one of them went right into the ammo chamber, and she pulled back the weapon's loading bolt. She also extended the weapon's shoulder brace.

Upon hearing another bit of rustling in the area, Emma hurried over with the loaded Uzi and stood just outside the brushes in the shade, firing a short burst into them that sent birds high up in the trees fluttering away fearfully.

Emma stepped into the brushes to see if she had hit anything, but there were no bodies, nor any traces of blood anywhere. As much as she wanted to empty a full spray of bullets into the area, she needed to conserve her ammo to account for being able to keep her weapon lethal for the next two days. Now that Emma was fully loaded, the idea of using an Uzi Submachine Gun for a bludgeon was dropped unless it was absolutely necessary.

She wanted to shoot someone with it. Ideally, she wanted to win this war. Her father was counting on her to score many kills. She didn't want to die on the very first day.

Emma kept her senses sharp, listening for anything more that was out of the ordinary for the terrain she was in. She listened for any more rustling. Any more grunts or groans. Any more shushing.

Malcolm, fearfully staying behind a large tree, did not make a single sound as he tried to avoid being noticed. He still didn't know who it was that grabbed him, but that was hardly important for the moment. If Emma spotted him, it would no longer matter who had interrupted his attempt at a real live silent kill.

Three quiet minutes passed. Emma saw, and heard, nothing.

But she knew Malcolm, at least, was close. Hiding somewhere. Perhaps fearing for his life.

If the shushing was any indication, however, she knew he was no longer alone. So much for the easy kill.

"You won't be so lucky the next time, you geeks!" With that, Emma Curahee finally hurried away.

Malcolm had been holding his breath the entire time. Once he knew she was out of earshot, he finally exhaled his breath as his unseen companion stepped over to him. On his head was what looked to be an army-issue helmet, upon which was attached a device that resembled a small black camera of some kind.

When Malcolm finally saw the face of the young man taking off this helmet, he recognized the short-haired male Russian student of his class, who had practically disappeared in a brush near the tree Malcolm was hiding behind. One of Emma's rounds had impacted very close to his hand when she discharged her burst.

" _Vladis?_ " He quietly exclaimed. "What the _fuck,_ man? I almost had that bitch!"

" _Nyet._ She would have killed you. Easily." Vladis responded, also speaking in hushed tones. "She is military trained."

"Oh, hell, man, I knew that!" He indicated his funny-looking leaf headpiece. "I've got my camo on, and…let's face it. I'm a black man. Hidin' in shadows ain't a problem!"

"You should not die on the first day, Malcolm." Vladis reasoned. "We must use our heads. We should work together, just like LaShawn said."

Malcolm frowned in his disbelief. " _Together?_ Were you nappin' through that briefing? It's every man for himself!" He then lifted his icepick threateningly. "I oughta stick _you_ just for ruinin' my first kill!"

"That is just what _they_ want." Vladis countered. "I don't think everyone else feels the same. I think if we get enough people together, we can figure out another way! I cannot do it alone! I need your help! Besides…" Vlad gestured to his helmet. "… _this_ is the weapon they gave me."

Malcolm lowered his weapon, looking mystified. "A helmet with a camera?"

"No, no. This is _night vision._ " Vladis corrected, gesturing to the attachment. "That is how I was able to see you."

Malcolm gave the notion a bit of thought. The idea definitely had merit. He couldn't deny that there were others in the class who might feel the same way, otherwise they would not have had such a horrified reaction to the death of LaShawn Hughes.

With a loud sigh, he nodded. "Okay, Vlad. I'll hook up with you…but only because you helped me with my math homework last week. If we ain't gettin' anywhere by day three, though…"

"…we will all be dead anyway." Vladis gravely interjected. "But I do not want to die trying to kill a friend."

Malcolm nodded at this as they walked away from the area. "Neither do I, man." He gestured to his headpiece. "Nice, eh? Check it out." He struck a pose. "I'm Ram-bro."

Vladis chuckled at this, trying to mime Stallone's voice in response. "They drew first blood, not you."

Malcolm couldn't help but laugh. "That sounded more like _Brando_ than Stallone!"

They both laughed now as Vladis pulled out his map. Comparing this map with Malcolm's, he corrected a mistake Vladis had made in marking the first Danger Zones.

They then mutually resolved to pay a visit to the Workshop.

* * *

The beeping at her neck kept Krystal Riley moving. As fast as she could. A wave of terror gripped her as she continued running, hoping to escape Zone D-7 in time.

The beeping was becoming rapid now…

…and then, it stopped.

She had made it out of a Danger Zone, and just when the collar was within a couple of seconds of detonating. Breathing through her nose, she took a moment to relax herself, dropping to her knees on the damp soil.

Opening her Survival Pack, she pulled her map. Each of the Danger Zones were marked with a different word, and each in capital letters. "BAD 7" was at B-15. "DEAD 9" was at zone D-7, and "EVIL 11" was at zone E-20. Seeing a place in D-8 marked "Residence" near where she was, she decided to head in that direction.

The place in question looked quaint. Krystal hurried towards the two-level residence, eager to take advantage of a rest stop which could double as a legitimate shelter. She had seen that clouds were forming above the island, as well, and she imagined that it would start raining in a few hours.

Her first thought was whether or not anyone else had found this particular place. Perhaps a trap had been laid, she thought to herself. She obviously needed to watch where she was walking as she entered.

Remembering a door trap scene she had seen in a movie, she stepped to the side as she pushed the front door wide open. No bangs, no clicks, nothing. The door was safe to pass through.

All the same, she gazed down at her feet, wary of tripwires. Thankfully, there were none.

The darkened living room had an antique rocking chair inside it. A more modern sofa and a long coffee table could also be seen. A note had also been left on the coffee table which she picked up and read its message, which was written with a black marker, and in all-caps:

 **PLEASE DON'T  
** **DESTROY THE HOUSE**

Krystal smirked at this request, placing the note back on the coffee table. She then ascended the staircase. Slowly, and carefully, just as she did with the front door, and always cautious of her path.

Once again, the trip was eventless, and she saw that there was a hallway with four doors. Two of them were open.

The interior of one room was a pink-walled bathroom, and the other was a bedroom.

Stepping into the bedroom first, she saw that it was a children's bedroom. Posters of comic book characters and cartoon ponies were on the light blue wall, and a small pink TV was on a brown dresser, which was decorated with stickers representing various cartoon characters.

Looking at the bed, she saw that the top bunk had soft pink bedding, while the bed below had a blue sheet full of comic book characters. The top bunk's bedsheets were neatly-arranged, while the bottom bunk was practically a bundle of sheets, and much more of a mess compared to the top bunk.

Krystal surmised that this was a room shared by a son and a daughter.

Sighing exhaustedly through her nose, she settled upon the messy bundle on the bottom bunk. Apparently, something was under it. Something warm.

The sheets then exploded upward as a pair of arms…and a man's groan…flailed up beneath Krystal, who in her shock attempted to escape the bottom bunk.

She was, however, grabbed by a pair of strong arms, and then tossed down onto the bundle of sheets lying upon the bottom bunk. The man who had tossed her down then hovered over her, his face revealed in the light.

When he saw who it was that he had grabbed, he smiled wide. "Ooooh. Fancy seeing _you_ here, Rah-rah."

Krystal's eyes widened at the sight of Mickey Palladino's face. Upon confirming it was him, she found herself wishing that she had sprung a lethal trap instead.

"I found this little place a few hours after I had left the school." Mickey explained. "Made myself at home. Sure wish you could have been with me when I found it, but…here you are anyway."

Krystal remained silent as she continued to stare up at Mickey…who had a long piece of white cloth wrapped around his forehead to mask the bullet graze Captain Curahee inflicted on him back in the classroom…through half-lidded eyes.

Mickey's expression was now one of annoyance as he continued to stare down at his guest. "So…what's your problem with me? Huh? Why don't you wanna be with me? We could be real good together, you and I. Why can't you give me a chance?"

Krystal's response was an irritated sigh, still breathing through her nose.

"Don't tell me you've got a thing for weenies like that Zimmer kid." Mickey warily remarked. "I was hoping to find him and make him my first kill." He then held up his weapon, which he was holding in his right hand. It was nothing more than a stainless steel dinner fork.

"I was really gonna 'fork' him up, too. I'm bigger, and I'm _stronger_ than that little shit. If I ever see him again? I'm gonna fuckin' _prove_ it."

He continued to stare down at Krystal Riley, transfixed by how attractive she looked while laying upon the bed. Mickey brought up his free hand to push a lock of Krystal's blond hair out of her eyes.

"God, you look sooo beautiful." Mickey whispered. "Can I be your protector? Huh? Can I be your Prince Charming? We can make this our house, you and I, while everyone's out there destroying themselves."

A smile was now on Krystal's face.

Mickey's own face lit up in his surprise. "Mmmm…you'd like that, wouldn't you? A house all our own? It's got a fireplace downstairs, too. We could toast the marshmallows I found in the kitchen while we hear all the screaming and the gunshots outside."

Krystal puckered her lips alluringly, and then fired a sharp burst of air, which Mickey felt at his left cheek.

He then felt a sharp sting at his cheek as the dart lodged itself in. Mickey frowned, and then reached up to pull the small, needle-like dart off his face. The dart was moist in his fingers, and it was drenched in a clear, oily substance.

His heart suddenly began racing as his vision blurred, Dizziness set in quickly as he staggered back. His breathing became ragged as his eyes boggled, and sweat quickly formed on his brow.

In the next moment, activity in Mickey Palladino's heart permanently stopped. His facial expression was still frozen in its wide-eyed shock as his consciousness faded.

Krystal rose up from the bed, extracting the small, straw-like Blow Gun from her mouth. Opening her Survival Pack, she extracted another poison dart from a plastic container and slipped it into the Blow Gun. She then placed the Blow Gun into the container for the time being, and closed the lid. Beside the small plastic container was a similar one that contained two pills. Initially containing three pills, she had taken one of them as per the printed instructions that came with the Blow Gun. This special medicine served to make her immune to the contact poison on the darts for a period of 24 hours.

Seeing a mirror above the dresser, Krystal walked over with her personal pack, opening it to acquire a tube of lipstick. She applied another coat upon the lips, and then stowed it away in the personal pack. After fixing her hair, she casually stepped over the dead body of Mickey Palladino.

She then went downstairs to the house's kitchen to look for the marshmallows Mickey had mentioned. About an hour later, she was by the freshly-lit fireplace, using Mickey's fork to carefully warm up a marshmallow.

As the front door to the house was near the fireplace, she was able to hear a slow rapping at the door. Without saying a word as she ate her warm marshmallow, she stopped chewing and angled her head to the door.

Valerie Chung was just as cautious as she carefully opened the front door. In one of her hands was a Woodcutter's Axe.

Initially, Krystal was tense. When she saw Valerie, she swallowed the sweet-tasting, chewed-up white cube, relaxed her guard, and smiled. "Hi, Val! Come on in!" She chimed. "Grab a marshmallow."

Valerie, however, was still wary as she slowly approached the fireplace. She never expected Krystal Riley to be so cheery under these horrible circumstances. "Y-you're not gonna…"

"Why?" Krystal interjected. "You've always been cool with me. C'mon. Let's hang out for a bit."

Valerie was still hesitant, keeping herself a short distance from the cheerleader.

Krystal sighed. She then raised her right hand. "I, Krystal Riley, do solemnly swear that I won't kill you until day three, and only when all our collars blow up, so help me God." She lowered her hand. "Now get over here and have a marshmallow with me."

"Uhhh…" Val felt a little more relieved now. "…'kay…"

She was still a little uncomfortable and wary about being with Krystal, expecting her to pull out a knife at some point and begin stabbing her to death. No knife was ever flashed, however. Reaching over to grab a pair of marshmallows from the nearby bag, Valerie noticed not one, but two Survival Packs idling near the fireplace.

Val then remembered noticing that the house had more than one floor. She glanced to the staircase. "Is…someone else here?"

" _Was_ here." Krystal smirked. "Asshole Palladino. But, uh…he's gone now."

Valerie's eyes widened. "What did you do?"

Krystal shrugged. "I gave him what he wanted." She pulled another marshmallow from the bag after skewering one with Mickey's fork. "I gave him a blow job."

 **Boy #14 Palladino – dead  
** **34 to go**

* * *

Since leaving the school, Carl Porter was still trying to comprehend what he had been forced into taking part in. Like most, he didn't want to join in the bloodlust that seemed to have possessed some of the students.

Apparently, the japanese 'guest' had gotten into it. Carl witnessed him shooting up Letitia and her friends hours ago. He also saw Kevin Mintner…the jock he called the 'goth-hater'…fearfully hiding from Gloria Angel, who was chasing him. Mintner had a shotgun in his hands, and Gloria had a big knife.

He saw that Gloria had given up the chase and had wandered away, while Kevin nursed a wound at his leg.

Kevin also noticed that he had pissed his own pants.

Carl's own weapon seemed…prophetic, for someone who never had any interest at all in killing people.

It was a sturdy white rope, with an adjustable noose on one end.

Like Manuel Ortiz, Carl was a creator, not a destroyer. He liked artistic pursuits, and he liked writing pursuits. Poetry, prose, paintings…all these things appealed to the young and handsome goth boy.

He was disheartened enough that the new President, Anderson U.S. Grant, had advocated in favor of removing extracurricular activities in schools, in addition to programs he deemed unnecessary to a good education.

And among the programs that Grant felt needed to go was the Arts. He even publicly swore that by the next year, not one school in the United States would provide any lessons in artistic endeavors in any way. Carl saw this as the silencing of individual expression, and it would not be a harbinger of the better days Grant had promised in an election no one thought he would actually win.

If these 'battle royales' were what students had to look forward to when they reached middle-school age, he didn't want to be around to see how such a terrible program would change the country over time.

He was already terribly despondent over the murder of Hubert Parry, who seemed to be among the few people who could actually keep a man like Carl hoping for better days. His head still hurt from the vomiting. The bottle of water in his Survival Pack didn't help very much.

In his wanderings, he had found a tree with a branch that looked sturdy enough for what he wanted to do.

He pulled the rope out of his Survival Pack, and began his climb up the tree towards the branch.

* * *

For the first time in many years, Gina Salazar wept.

She had just discovered the body of her boyfriend, Alejandro Espina. She had already pulled the two crossbow bolts out of his body, keeping one in case she ran into whoever it was who had murdered him.

In one of her calloused hands, she held an empty Glock pistol.

The index finger of her free hand reached down towards one of the fatal wounds that had been inflicted upon the tattooed student. She then dug the finger into the bloody hole.

Pulling it back out, she brought the finger to her mouth and licked the blood…Alejandro's blood…off of it. Her mom had told her when she was younger that by taking the blood of someone you cared very deeply for into you, even if it was nothing more than a single drop, that person's spirit would be with you for the rest of your days.

"I'll kill whoever did this to you, meng." Gina weakly vowed. "I fuckin' promise."

Wiping the tears from her face, she rose up from the ground, still staring down at the face of a man she had been with for seven years. A man who tried to bully her for the crime of being female before she became the only girl he had ever encountered who was able to quite literally…and quite unexpectedly…kick his ass.

From then on, they were inseparable. Spite evolved to love. They were a duo from then on.

Until now.

A few minutes after walking away from the body of her boyfriend, she heard the rustling of a tree, an odd noise that sounded like a 'thump', and then a brief noise that sounded like someone being choked to death.

Her steps were careful now as she neared the source of the noise, obviously compelled by morbid curiosity. Did one of the students just strangle someone, she wondered to herself?

After a couple of minutes of walking, she heard a slight creaking noise. Gina also spotted a Survival Pack resting against a tree.

Coming closer to this pack revealed the source of the creaking when her gaze angled slightly upward.

Strung up by his neck, the dead body of Carl Porter slowly swung back and forth from a high, overhanging branch.

Curiously, Gina opened up Carl's unzippered pack and perused its contents. To her complete surprise, there were a pair of ammo clips which perfectly fit into her Glock.

Pulling the gun's slide back, and then engaging the weapon's safety lock, her attitude lightened considerably as she stepped away from Carl's corpse.

She stopped a few feet away from where he was swinging, and turned to the corpse, bringing up the gun. "Thanks for the clips, freak." Turning away from him, she hurried away, beginning her hunt for anyone who might have a crossbow in their possession.

She hoped Alejandro's murderer would be her first kill of the program.

 **Boy #15 Porter – dead  
** **33 to go**


	7. VI: The Second Report

**VI: The Second Report**

 _"_ _There's a way out of this game. Commit suicide. Both of you. Here, now. If you can't do that, then don't trust anyone…and just run!"  
_ _\- Shogo Kawada, "Battle Royale"_

 **12:00 P.M.**

 **Girl #4 Curahee – Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"** **No pain, no gain!"  
** **Discover the BR-USA Gymnasium**

Emma Curahee always paired up the habitual practice of eating lunch with post-lunch calisthenics as per her father's upbringing. Having secured the gymnasium, and establishing makeshift sound traps on all entrances to insure that she would be alerted to intruders, she stepped into the large gymnasium space, changed into the sweatsuit she had in her personal pack, and dropped to the ground to begin with her usual 20 push-ups. When heaving her body back up, she was able to push herself up enough from the ground to do a quick clap of her hands before dropping back down.

As she repeatedly pushed herself off the ground, a bouncy Mozart tune…played on a harpsichord…cut in on the loudspeakers outside. The voice of Cassandra Emerson followed as the volume of the music diminished.

"Lunchtime!" Cassandra began. "Take a break from all your felonious homicides and listen up! Three more of you losers are on the latest death manifest, adding to the more impressive array of corpses that piled up before the _first_ report! Boy #2, Trey Coolidge…"

Surviving members of the T.D. sighed regretfully upon hearing Trey's name. Next to LaShawn, Coolidge was also well-liked for his generally affable…and only mildly obnoxious…personality.

Zimmer sighed regretfully. He liked Trey as well.

"…Boy #14, Mickey Palladino, and Boy #15, Carl Porter." Cassandra lowered the sheet and frowned in her disappointment. "What's up with you dumb fucks, anyway? Remember…only _one_ of you is getting out of here alive, so you might as well show us how badly you want to _be_ that 'one'! You really think we're gonna stand for some stupid illusions of rebellion? Put those marshmallows away, draw your weapons, and let's have some good old-fashioned bloodletting! And if that's not enough to bring you all closer together with weapons drawn, maybe these new Danger Zones will do the trick! From 1:00 P.M., Zone G-8, from 3:00 P.M., Zone C-10…"

" _SHIT!_ "

Adele growled spitefully as she released Deidre's naked body, sliding irritably out of the cramped, but cozy hiding space she had discovered, and shared with her beloved girlfriend.

Deidre blinked, startled by Addie's reaction. "Is that us?"

"Yes, it is." Adele, who was also in the buff, gripped Deidre's offered hand and helped to pull her out. "Get dressed, spooky. It's time to move."

"…and from 5:00 P.M., Zone E-9." Cassandra lowered the list, exchanging it for a half-full glass of Cognac she had been drinking. "Your quote of the day is from Aristotle. 'Inferiors revolt in order that they may be equal, and equals that they may be superior. Such is the state of mind that creates revolutions'. Now for those of you seriously considering any kind of a revolt, the soldiers here have been given orders to kill anyone wearing a collar that comes anywhere near the school zone. I will also remind you that there are trained snipers in Captain Curahee's platoon prepared to terminate with extreme prejudice. So sharpen up, lock and load, and go after much safer targets." She stopped to drain the rest of the liquor in her glass in one gulp. "Like yourselves!"

Cassandra then signaled for one of the soldiers at the monitoring console to hit a button that began playing the contents of a tape from a reel-to-reel.

"Eyes front, maggots!" The perky, girly voice began. "It's Battle-Maid Athena again! How has the hunt been going for those parts to my special weapon? If you found a strange object in your Survival Pack that might _look_ like it belongs to a weapon, then chances are, it does! There's two more days left, so you've got plenty of time to not only keep collecting the parts you need to build my special weapon, but also to find the ammunition I lost, too! Happy hunting, kids!"

After a pause, the message from Athena repeated itself. This time, however, she spoke in Japanese.

Lorenzo Trujillo frowned in his curiosity, as the Japanese-language version of the audio file played, and he felt compelled to temporarily stall his hunt for Martin Norris. He dropped to a knee, placing his weapon…an unsheathed Combat Machete…to the side while he opened up and dug into his Survival Pack. He wondered if his pack was among those who had a piece of Athena's weapon.

Unfortunately, nothing odd could be found in his pack. Sighing irritably, he picked his machete back up and continued looking for Martin Norris.

At the residence occupied by Krystal and Valerie, however, they went into Mickey's pack in their shared curiosity…

…and came up with what Valerie was able to identify as a shoulder stock. It definitely looked like a piece that was required in the assembly of a weapon, given the material.

Shuya Nanahara, who had created a temporary shelter for himself using the natural foliage around him, went over to one of the packs he had collected from the girls who tried to kill him.

Destiny's pack had a large piece. A trigger handle, the trigger itself, and the ammo housing. Looking in the second pack Letitia had with her revealed a portion of the weapon which Shuya was firmly able to attach to the front of the trigger handle piece using the small bag of screws that came with the part.

Shuya's senses then caught a bit of rustling in the nearby brushes, followed by what he was able to deduce was a small gasp. Both in the same area.

The freedom fighter's hand immediately dug into the brushes, found the back of a person's head, and pulled it out in one furious motion as his other hand pulled Letitia's machine pistol, which he immediately aimed at the intruder…

…who looked fearfully back up at Shuya Nanahara with wide, terrified eyes. "NO! NO! WAIT! PLEASE! WAITwaitwaitwaitwaitohgod…!" He then lifted a Pot Lid up to shield his face. Mike Zimmer then squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and waited for the inevitable shots.

Staring at Mike's pot lid, however, brought back terrible memories of the Shiroiwa Battle Royale. A similar lid, after all, was the weapon Shuya wound up with when he went into his own Survival Pack. Moments later, this same pot lid would save him from the angry swing of a Hand Axe, wielded by fellow student Tatsumichi Oki.

Initially wild-eyed with rage, the clear show of fear Zimmer displayed eased Shuya's senses. This was obviously one of the hesitant ones. An arguably more human participant among the wolves he had encountered, and had been hiding from.

"Please, I…I'm hungry." Mike whined. "Hungry…that's all…please…food…I'm s-starving…"

Shuya sighed. He then placed his free hand on the edge of the pot lid, gently lowering it. As a surprised Mike watched, the captured participant stowed the Machine Pistol behind him, engaging its safety lock as he did.

He then reached over to the strap on one of the Survival Packs and pulled the pack over. Digging into the open pack, Shuya grabbed one of the plastic-wrapped sandwiches and offered it to Zimmer.

Shuya heard Mike's stomach murmur as the frightened american slowly reached up to grab the sandwich, opening it up so he could immediately begin devouring it. Shuya pulled out an unopened bottle of water and placed it near Zimmer as he ate every little scrap of the packaged meal.

And all the so-called 'Butcher of Tokyo' did the entire time was to watch Mike eat Shuya's graciously-offered meal.

When Mike was finished with the sandwich, he gave a grateful nod in acknowledgement. "Arigato."

Shuya frowned. It was a downright horrible pronounciation of a well-known Japanese phrase. He had heard many americans who otherwise didn't speak a word of his language speak that phrase correctly. Mike's pronounciation was almost comical.

The former Shiroiwa student shook his head. Gently placing a hand on Mike's shoulder, which still shook with fear, Shuya gestured to his own mouth as he spoke slowly.

" _A-ri-ga-tooo_." Shuya added the appropriate phrasing to the word. " _A…ri…ga…to._ "

He gestured to Mike's mouth now as he spoke, and Mike began to follow along. " _A…ri…_ " Mike was getting it. "… _ga_ … _to._ "

" _Ari-ga-to…go-zai-mass._ " Shuya continued.

Mike carefully phrased it out. " _Arigato go-zai-mass._ "

The freedom fighter repeated it one more time. " _Arigato gozaimass._ "

Mike perfectly uttered it in turn. " _Arigato gozaimass._ "

Shuya nodded, and then offered a slight bow. " _Doitashimashite._ "

The american boy frowned in confusion. "What?"

Shuya raised a hand, shaking his head. He then fixed a look of conviction on Mike's eyes as he somatically attempted a couple of English phrases he had been taught during the time he spent in battlefields alongside the father of Shinji Mimura.

"I…" Shuya carefully began, gesturing to himself. "…help…" Another gesture to himself. He then gestured to Mike. "…you."

It took a moment for Mike to comprehend what he had just heard. "You…" He indicated Shuya. "…want to help…" A gesture intended to indicate his classmates. "…us?"

Shuya emphatically nodded once. " _Hai._ " He then gestured in a symbolic indication to break off their collars with both of his fists.

Mike nodded in full understanding. It was obvious to him now that the so-called 'Butcher of Tokyo' was anything but. Perhaps he wanted to change his ways, he thought?

"I…I'll tell…" Mike indicated his classmates. "…everyone."

Shuya went to the Survival Packs he had collected, pulling the food and the water from each of them and loading a single pack with them. He also added the spare flashlights, maps, and compasses to it.

After a moment of thought, the former Shiroiwa school student decided to pull out the pepper spray he took from Destiny. Presenting it to Mike, he pointed to his eyes, and then gave the spray to the american, who nodded in understanding.

Shuya then handed the loaded Survival Pack to Mike as well. The american student looked confused.

The freedom fighter, opening his mouth and extending his tongue, pointed to his tongue. A clear indication that he was no fan of the meals in the Survival Packs.

Mike chuckled in his amusement, zippering up the now bulky pack and slinging it over his shoulder. Shuya then pulled Mike to his feet.

Handing off the pepper spray, however, was a risky loyalty test. Shuya figured that Mike might try to use the spray on the freedom fighter's own eyes, and get the jump on him.

But he didn't.

This offered up the potential for Mike Zimmer, as Mike slid the small spray canister into a pocket of his pants, to be what Shuya and Noriko became to Shogo Kawada during the Shiroiwa Battle Royale. What Keiko Onuki was to Shogo during his Kobe Middle School Battle Royale.

A true friend.

Shuya then grabbed Mike by the shoulders to share another English word he knew. "Careful."

Mike nodded. The next words he spoke came from the heart, and were perfectly pronounced. " _Arigato gozaimass._ "

Once Mike left the area, Shuya pulled his machine pistol, slung his own Survival Pack over his shoulder, and began shadowing Mike Zimmer from a distance with the intent of covering him if anyone assaulted his new friend.

He also wanted to see if Mike was a man of his word.

* * *

Hamid Ranganathan operated as most did once they had left the school. He remained out of sight once he confirmed…and extracted…the weapon that was in his Survival Pack.

His collar beeped at one point during his journey thus far, as he had accidentally wandered into a Danger Zone. He was quick to leave it, however, hurriedly retracing his steps until the collar went quiet.

In all that time, he looked for people he knew. People who he considered friends. He hoped to find Issac Meyer, for one. He liked hanging out with him, and he figured that of all the people in his class, he would have the most sensible approach to this insane program.

As he continued his lonely wanderings as quietly as he could, his weapon in his pocket for the moment, he spotted a young girl wearing a familiar-looking burqa. The Dubai-born student did find Anaya Mukherjee very attractive, but…he had not brought up the nerve to actually talk with her. He had thought about asking Issac about how he should approach the girl, but…he never acted on such an impulse. Not yet, at least.

Anaya seemed to be a little lost, and she stopped to pull her survival map from her pack, which she had slung across her body in the manner of a pocketbook.

 _I should help her._ Hamid thought to himself. _Even if she…_

The T.D. jock struck Hamid hard, easily bringing him to the ground. Squinting and groaning in pain from the impact, the student who had struck Hamid with his rushing tackle pressed a knee against the smaller boy's throbbing chest and gazed down at him with a triumphant grin, holding Hamid's arms down as he gloated.

"Well, well, well!" The voice was unmistakable. It was one voice Hamid hated hearing. It was Vincent Willits. "Small world, Ranganangaboogagoogagoochie!"

Hamid squirmed about beneath the larger man's weight, trying to set himself free. His arms were pinned together under Vincent's well-exercised body mass. "Get OFF of me! Please! Owww!"

"What?" Vincent had a look of mock confusion on his face. "Why don't you ask me in that stupid pig latin of yours? You know…say something like 'buublubuubuugaglaburgabiddibiddibiddi!'" He then grabbed a handful of Hamid's short black hair, pulling on it painfully as he growled. "You ain't got no faggot teacher to hide behind _this_ time, rag-head. It's skinny, muttering little bastards like you that take good-payin' jobs away from people like my Dad! You eaten yet? 'Cause I got somethin' for you to chew on, ya curry-eatin' fuck! Yeah, you're gonna _love_ this!"

Like Anaya, Vince had his own Survival Pack slung across his body, allowing him to dig into the half-closed bag to produce the 'meal' he had in mind for Hamid.

He then pulled out a handful of the small, steel ground spikes…the caltrops…that were in the purple felt bag. Ordinarily used to drop down on the ground in an effort to impede on-foot pursuers, he had an entirely different idea.

"See this, hindu? I call it 'blood curry'. Open your mouth."

Hamid defiantly pressed his lips together, glaring up at his tormentor, who had been going after him since they shared a Gym class in school in his first year, and it was only now that Hamid learned why Vincent had been so relentless in his tormenting ways. The restrained student figured Vincent's dad had lost his job due to layoffs, and with reports snowballing about minorities filling the vacancies, Vinny needed someone among those minorities to take his pent-up frustrations out on.

Vincent grabbed him by the neck and squeezed. "I said _open your fuckin' mouth._ " Hamid squirmed helplessly beneath him as he held up the caltrops, waiting for what was inevitable. "OPEN IT! _OPEN IT!_ "

As his arms were still pinned, Hamid could not get to the pocket that contained his weapon. All he could do was potentially asphyxiate by virtue of Vince's very tight grip on his throat.

Vince's head suddenly jerked back violently, his grip on the caltrops loosening as they clattered to the ground next to them. With this unexpected development, which was accompanied by a nasty-sounding zapping noise, Hamid was able to pull out his right hand and then bury it into his pocket, pulling out a handle with a button.

Pressing this button, a sharp, thin blade clicked out.

Immediately and angrily thrusting the blade upward, he buried it into Vince's neck, just above the top edge of the collar. Furiously pushing Vincent off of him, he settled his own weight on top of the bullying jock and began viciously stabbing Willits. The blade went in repeatedly, and the jock's blood splattered everywhere around them. Onto Vincent, onto Hamid's clothes, onto the angry student's face, onto Vincent's shocked face.

Anaya, defensively holding up the stun gun she had used on Vincent, watched in horror as the nice kid she had believed Hamid Ranganathan to be violently continued stabbing his tormentor with all the zeal of a remorseless serial killer in a horror movie. He even screamed with rage as he continued stabbing the jock.

The stabbing continued even after the murdered athlete stopped moving. Vincent's face was frozen in its expression of shock.

As Hamid's sanity began to return, he stared down at the mangled, blood-soaked body of Vincent Willits, panting in his attempt to recover from his own unleashed reserves of vengeful rage.

He then looked up at the now terrified, burqa-wearing young woman who had unfortunately witnessed Hamid's moment of murderous insanity. Her pretty eyes still boggled in disbelief.

Still shivering, Hamid's eyes then went to his blood-soaked switchblade, which he retracted back into the handle. He then slipped it back into his pocket and slowly rose up, standing over Vincent's corpse as his eyes lingered on Anaya.

He raised his bloodied hands in restraint. "It's OK." He quietly assured, keeping his tone quiet. He began to move towards Anaya. "I will not hurt…"

Anaya retreated a step, pressing the button on her contact-based stun gun as she held it out towards him, letting the hand-held deterrent zap loudly and threateningly. Her eyes were wide with fear.

"Please! No!" Hamid kept his dripping hands raised. "I will not hurt you!"

With a scream, Anaya took off, running as far away from Hamid as she could.

Genuinely upset over having scared off the girl he had a crush on, he began to sob.

Grabbing his own pack, and ignoring the caltrops, Hamid…still covered in Vincent's blood…drifted aimlessly away from the body of his murdered tormentor.

 **Boy #19 Willits – dead  
** **32 to go**

* * *

Walter looked pale and sweaty as Annabeth continued to help him move towards the Infirmary. They had already gotten an unpleasant shock at the sight of Trey Coolidge's corpse.

The young man's fever continued to pound, mercilessly, at his head as they moved, and his wounded leg continued to ache terribly. In Annabeth's free hand was her Butter Knife, which she gripped tightly.

"T-trip…wires…" Walter wearily reminded. "…watch for…"

"I know." Annabeth assured. "I'm watching where I step."

They both managed to make it to the entrance without incident. Leaning Walter against a wall by the entrance doors, Annabeth herself puffed a few relaxing breaths, wiping sweat off of her brow as she did.

With Walter's arm around her shoulders once again, they proceeded inside the Infirmary…

…only to find someone sitting at the reception desk. Someone they recognized as being one of the two class guests in the back of the room. The Sweepstakes winner.

Martin Norris smiled, seeing how sweaty and feverish Walter looked. "Bad day?"

Annabeth frowned. "You just gonna sit there, or are you gonna help us?"

Martin arched an eyebrow. "I thought we were all supposed to kill each other."

"Would you like me to break your neck instead?" Annabeth now glared at the Infirmary's sole occupant. "I won't need a weapon for that."

Martin sprang to life, jumping out of his seat to hurry over and help burden Walter. "There's a bed two doors down. We'll settle him in there. I stockpiled painkillers in there as well."

Martin proved true to his word as he and Annabeth helped get Walter into a waiting bed. A second bed was there too, but a bunch of wrapped needles and plastic medicine bottles were in there as well. Once Walter was in the bed, Annabeth went to the second bed and checked the bottles.

"There should be one there that reads 'acetaminophen'." Martin advised. "Give him two of those."

Annabeth couldn't help but be curious as she opened the bottle and pulled a cottonball out. She then extracted two pills from the bottle. "You work at a hospital?"

"Nope, but mom did." Martin replied. "She figured I'd make a good Doctor when I got older, so she just kept chattering away about medicine with me at the dinner table."

As Martin spoke, Annabeth had prepared a small cup of water from a sink in the room. She handed off the cold cup and the pills to Walter, who swallowed the pills and then washed them down, finishing the water in the cup in one big gulp.

"We can't stay here too long, you know." Martin noted as Walter took a deep, relaxing breath. "The hunt's still on out there, after all."

Walter nodded. "I know."

Annabeth settled into a seat in the room that was beside the bed. "So you're a sweepstakes winner?"

"And a student." Martin responded. "One of the few white students of Middle School 226. Place is a real shithole these days. Hasn't been easy for me, as you might expect."

Annabeth remained suspicious. "Why would you want to enter any kind of a contest where the grand prize is to go to an island and kill people?"

"Probably because _Survivalist Weekly_ wasn't very descriptive about that grand prize." Martin answered. "I didn't even think I'd _win_ the darn thing. I entered on a lark. According to the ad, the pitch was 'win lots of money, and a trip to an exotic, faraway island for the ultimate thrill ride'. Didn't say anything at all about being forced to participate in a live-action deathmatch. I guess that's what they meant by 'thrill ride'. Sneaky bastards."

"What weapon did you get?" Walter softly asked.

"Nu-uh." Martin shook his head. "You first." He then indicated Annabeth. "Then you."

Walter sighed, pointing to his Survival Pack. "Mine's in my bag."

Martin opened it up and sifted through its contents, eventually finding Walter's laser light projector. It looked no different from a common, chrome-plated pen save for the button which emitted the pencil-thin beam of red light out of one end for as long as the button was held down.

"Hmmmm. Laser pointer." He amusedly positioned the laser dot between Walter's eyes, miming Arnold Schwarzenegger's infamous cyborg assassin character. "'Ah you Sarah Connah?'"

Walter and Annabeth couldn't help but chuckle over this. When Martin turned to the girl, she pulled out her Butter Knife. "This is mine."

"Oh my." Martin mused. "What a perfectly lethal sandwich spreader."

"Har dee har har." Annabeth smirked. "Your turn, smartass."

Martin nodded, reaching behind him. Annabeth couldn't help but tense up a bit. "Yeah…kinda hard for me to put peanut butter on a slice of toasted bread…" He then produced a large, solid gold Butcher Knife. "…using this."

Annabeth waited a moment, expecting him to suddenly lunge. All he did, however, was to show off his weapon, which looked very sharp, and was indeed crafted from pure gold. He gave Walter a better view of the weapon as well before slipping it back in the custom-made scabbard that came with it, which he had attached behind him.

"Should we start calling you 'psycho', Norman?" Walter mused.

"Me? Naaah. I'm too much of a nice guy." Martin amusedly answered. He then raised his right hand as if he were making an oath. "Self-defense at all times, and protecting my friends at all costs." He lowered his hand, smiling. "That's my motto."

"Right. Let's be real, Martin." Annabeth remarked. "As they say in _Highlander_ , there can be only one."

Martin shrugged. "Unless you wanna find a way to fuck with the system. I mean…you're not exactly daddy's little girl, are you? I know that much from reading the papers."

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. She never realized she was the kind of familial association that was worth printing in the paper. Especially since Anderson U.S. Grant divorced her mom in the months before he began his Presidential campaign.

"Can I ask you something, though?" Martin continued. "Why does the President call himself 'U.S. Grant'? Is he just being, like, hyper-nationalistic or something?"

Annabeth shook her head. "According to some big shot guy he knows who's into tracing lineages, Anderson was told that he was a descendant of Ulysses S. Grant."

"As in the big Union Army General during the Civil War? Wow!" Martin looked impressed.

"Except that same guy confided in me later at one of Anderson's pre-election rallies." Annabeth smirked. "He made a mistake when he traced out the lineage, so the whole 'I'm related to Ulysses Grant' thing is pure horseshit. Not that it made any difference. Anderson used it as his big selling point ever since."

"He sure did." Walter added. "No one could ever shut him up about it during his speeches."

Martin's gaze was a little more contemplative as he kept his eyes on Annabeth. "Let me ask you this, then. If you had the chance to do so, would you kill him? Would you kill your own dad?"

Anna met his gaze with a similarly inquisitive one as she leaned forward. "Would _you?_ "

Not expecting his own question to be boomeranged back to him, it took a moment for him to respond. "If I knew he was as bad as Anderson Grant? I probably would." He then gestured towards Annabeth. "Your turn."

The pretty young student sighed. "I think I'd rather see him stand trial. I'd rather see his own world…his own people…see him for the selfish piece of shit that he is, and condemn him. Make him become an audience of one."

Walter smiled. "I'd pay to see something like that happen."

Martin, however, smirked. "Hope you have good, incorruptible lawyers. Let's assume he beats the rap, then. Let's assume the Jury hands down a 'Not Guilty' verdict."

"Martin…the only way I would ever shoot my own father is if we both had guns, and I knew he was gonna draw on me." Annabeth irritably shot back. "I really don't give a fuck for anyone who thinks I'm some kind of peace freak. I hate guns. They cause more problems than they solve. It's probably because of all that second-amendment crap…which Anderson Grant is a supporter of, I might add…that our country's been stuck with that goddamn BR law to begin with."

"You can't exactly butter-knife everyone to death, Anna." Martin reasoned.

"Hey…if Annabeth doesn't wanna use any guns, that's her choice." Walter warily remarked, frowning up at the sweepstakes winner.

"Cool by me, man." Martin raised his hands in restraint as he walked away. "I'm just saying. We can't always have nice things."

Walter broke the moment of awkward silence that followed, letting out a sigh. "I've always hated when people say that kind of shit. 'We can't always have nice things'. Like they think we can't take the bad with the good."

Annabeth nodded slowly as she lingered her gaze on Walter. "Get some rest. Give those meds a chance to do their thing."

"I hope you'll be here if I fall asleep." Walter warily noted.

Annabeth smiled. "Yeah…I will be."

"Promise?" Walter raised an eyebrow. "It's supposed to be every man for himself."

Anna tilted her head to the side. "Do I look like a man to you?"

Walter smiled back. "Just…do me a favor?" He gestured in the direction of where Martin was speaking with his thumb. "Watch him."

Anna nodded in agreement. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

* * *

 _Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.  
_ _Thy kingdom come, thine Angel's will be done.  
_ _Give us these days, my sacred hunt,  
_ _so that I may cleanse these wretched sinners of their trespasses  
_ _in thy name, and see their souls in safe passage to heaven,  
_ _if their souls be favorable in thine eyes,  
_ _and righteously cast the unclean and the unworthy  
_ _unto the burning pits of damnation below.  
_ _Thy blade and their weapons shall comfort me,  
_ _and may thy will guide my every smite,  
_ _so that I may deliver them all from the evils  
_ _of this world, and of their own design._

After finishing her solemnly-worded prayer, Gloria Angel…who was kneeling before her weapon…picked up the Hunting Knife, facing one of its flat edges towards her, and traced the sign of the crucifix in front of her.

 _In nomine patri, et fili, et spiritu sancti. Amen._

With her impromptu ritual finished, she slipped the Hunting Knife back in its sheath, and turned to resume her hunt.

* * *

 **Boy #5 Ellis Boy #9 Jorgensen  
** **Boy #11 Meyer Girl #11 Noda  
** **–** **Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"** **Workers Compensation"  
** **Discover the BR-USA Workshop**

Ellis slowly nodded as he gazed upon the locale. "Niiiice. Very nice."

The Workshop resembled a more primitive Smithy. Anvils, furnaces…everything short of implements that could be used for weapons. Hammers were missing, chains, tongs…whatever was there were old, rusted, and useless remnants of such implements.

"Nice?" Ron Jorgensen turned to Ellis, puzzled. "More like bare-bones. You see any usable hammers? Are the furnaces hot?"

Ellis shrugged. "If we put our heads together, we can come up with workarounds."

"Your optimism is appreciated, Mister Ellis." Issac observed. "This place is still worth planting our flag in."

Violet Noda was already scanning around the area, although her mind was off of the hunt for Shuya, and on the notion of helping Issac and his friends. She figured that Shuya was nowhere in the area in any case.

Her scavenging revealed the presence of a wheel mechanism deep within the Smithy. It seemed out of place from the other elements of the locale, and a power generator was nearby with a single red plastic jug of kerosene next to it. Moving to where the rest of the group was exploring, she waved Issac and Ron Jorgensen over.

When their eyes fell upon what Violet found, Ron's eyes lit up, and he hurried over to the wheel mechanism. "Whoa…a grinder! It's got its own power gen too."

"And gas for the generator as well." Issac observed. "We just need a reason to use it."

"The game's only begun." Ron noted. "I'm sure someone's gonna want to make use of it." He then opened the gas container and began juicing up the generator. "They'll have to get through me, though. Dibs."

"You say that _now_." Issac warily remarked. "Bear in mind that at this point, people may have loaded guns."

Ron grinned. "So do you and Violet…and Violet has a machine gun. Ho, ho, ho."

Issac nodded, recognizing the _Die Hard_ reference as Ron got to work figuring out how to work the grinder.

At this point, the voice of Peter Ellis could be heard calling out "INCOMING!"

Everyone went to the nearest hard point as a panting could be heard getting louder. Staggering his way to an anvil, wiping away a forehead full of sweat, was Michael Zimmer.

"It's okay…" Michael called out through his panting. "…it's okay…he wants to help."

When Issac confirmed that it was indeed Michael Zimmer, he rose up from behind the anvil he was concealing himself behind, and stepped over to the exhausted student. "Who are you referring to, Mister Zimmer?"

"Jap…Japanese guy." Mike replied. "Shiyu…Shaya…you know, the…the butcher guy."

Issac raised an eyebrow. " _Mister Nanahara?_ "

"Shuya?" Ron added, also surprised.

"That's him." Mike confirmed. He then presented his overstuffed survival pack. "He gave me all this. Food, water…"

"Fucker probably poisoned them." A skeptical Peter Ellis murmured.

Mike shrugged. "Didn't look like he did anything to them."

"I'll never be quick to assume that Mister Nanahara is the bad guy." Issac remarked, coming into Peter's vicinity. "Let's all try and remember that he actually _survived_ a Battle Royale back in Japan. He's not much different than any of us when you think about it. Remember…he never _wanted_ to do any of this. His government forced him and his classmates into that madness."

Ron nodded, seeing the wisdom. "Like us."

Peter remained skeptical as he regarded Mike. "What makes you think he wants to help us? And for that matter, what makes you think he doesn't want to find a way to get us all in one place and kill us? What makes you think he wasn't _brainwashed_ into helping the program?"

Issac wasn't buying it. "I seriously doubt that Mister Nanahara is in collusion with the program. Remember…we're the prototype. The first _american_ Battle Royale."

Peter sighed, still unconvinced. "I dunno, man…I still don't trust him."

"Well, I'm prepared to give him some breathing room, at least." Issac countered, glancing to where Violet was listening.

The mention of Shuya obviously brought Violet over, and she listened to the point-counterpoint debate thoughtfully despite her evident determination to kill the BR survivor. Her parents were still dead at Shuya's hands regardless of whether or not the wanted man sought to help the condemned students.

But there was logic in Issac's words, too. It was tough to accept, however, that her parents just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She loved them too much to believe that fate would be so cruel.

"Just follow the basic rules of engagement." Issac reasoned, noticing the skeptical faces. "Don't fire unless fired upon."

No one made a visible confirmation. An air of uncertainty was painfully evident in that moment.

Ron decided to break the ice as he turned to Mike. "So what weapon did you get?"

Blushing in his embarrassment, Mike presented his pot lid.

After gazing upon the 'weapon' thoughtfully, Ron gestured for the exhausted student to hand over the cylindrical steel object. "Kinda makes you wish it were bigger, doesn't it? You know, like Captain America's shield?"

Mike sighed as he gave Ron the lid. "I wish."

"Fortunately for you, I have an idea." Ron then brought Mike over to the power generator, indicating the pull-string starter. "Go on and give that a nice big tug. Get this baby chugging."

Complying with Ron's request, a couple of sharp pulls on the cord brought the generator to life, and Ron flipped the power switch on the grinder, bringing the wheel to hydraulic life. Ron then pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his personal pack and looked to Mike. "You might want to take a step back. Because…you know, sparks."

A bright stream of sparks began to manifest once the grinding wheel came into contact with the edge of the pot lid. The shop student slowly rotated the lid as the grinder continued to wear down the edges.

Given all the noise that the grinder was making, everyone in the area seemed to be on edge for the attention they could be conceivably drawing to themselves during the job. Issac and Violet had their guns out, keeping their senses sharp for any of the other students that might intrude on Ron's work.

Peter, however, let out a bloodcurdling scream.

All eyes, save for Ron, went to the screaming student, frowning in complete confusion.

Peter shrugged, smiling. "What? I figured we make 'em think someone's using the grinder to kill one of us."

After a moment, Issac nodded along with the others. "Ahh. Innovative thinking, Mister Ellis."

"I figure it's either that, or one of you pop off a round or two." Peter remarked. "And I'm sure you'll wanna save your ammo, since we have two more days of this shit."

Violet placed a hand on Mike's shoulder in consolation. "I'm really sorry about your friend."

Mike nodded. "Thanks."

Once the grinding noise stopped, there was a sense of relief…

…but the grinding stone came to life once again. "Gotta do the other side."

Exasperated sighs heaved out as Ron began the grinding cacophany once again, slowly revolving the pot lid as he worked to sharpen the edge.

And once again, everyone other than Ron was on edge, hoping they wouldn't be attacked over a friendly, but unwise, favor.

* * *

Trudi Malone's exhaustion from all the walking she had done since leaving the school zone was beginning to show on the honor student's face. More than once, she had to wipe sweat from her brow. The water bottle did little to help her feel any better, and she had finished that bottle hours ago.

When she saw the weapon in her wide pack, she had to wonder if it was some kind of a bad joke, given that she was a fan of the _Star Wars_ franchise. She had to wonder if they knew this when the soldiers handed her survival pack over to her.

It was a weapon if, activated under the wrong circumstances, would make a noise that would give away her position.

It was a weapon which, at best, could only bruise an attacker at best, as it was certainly not very sturdy and not terribly effective in a combat situation.

It was a custom-made semblance of a Lightsaber hilt, with a plastic light rod inserted into it. Pressing the activation button would cause it to emanate the sound effect of a lightsaber igniting, and the rod would glow with a bright blue light. Waving it around replicated the humming noise made by the onscreen weapons in any of the _Star Wars_ films in which the fictional weapon was featured.

Trudi had to appreciate that they got the side she preferred right. She was a fan of the Jedi Order faction. If they gave her a lightsaber which glowed red, that would make her a sympathizer of the faction's enemies, which were called the Sith.

As it was, it was certainly a very difficult weapon to conceal. All she could do was hold on to it, and make sure she didn't press the button under the worst possible circumstances.

When she came upon a muddy grove during her wanderings, however, a nearby rustling compelled Trudi to find someplace to hide.

As much as she wanted to find a large tree to hide behind, the area had none. She started to look around frantically, as the rustling was close, and whoever it was was still moving towards her.

Such was her wild determination to conceal herself that she slipped on the mud and fell into the muck below.

While she was on the ground, she crawled about hoping to find someplace low to conceal herself behind.

The only thing she found was a large, broken pipe. One big enough to conceal herself within. The lightsaber replica made the progress of crawling into the pipe a little difficult, and she was forced to soak most of her school uniform in mud in so doing.

She had to be extra careful not to 'activate' her weapon in her effort to conceal herself.

Once Trudi was deep within the darkness of the broken pipe, she got to see who it was that was stalking the area, looking for her.

It was the nice-looking, but overly religious blonde, Gloria. In her right hand was an intimidating-looking hunting knife.

Trudi tried to keep her breathing minimal as Gloria stalked around the area. The wide-eyed, shaking, mud-soaked student hoped the pious blonde didn't have tracking talents she didn't know about, or she was well and truly fucked.

Gloria lingered for about a minute, coming close to the broken pipe without actually noticing it.

In the next moment, a loud grinding noise could be heard in the distance. Trudi frowned in her confusion. She wondered if the noise had caught Gloria's attention as well.

After a minute of the lingering noise, Trudi heard Gloria quietly murmur a couple of vaguely-understood words before her footsteps could be heard leaving the area.

Trudi heaved a sigh of relief, pulling out her lightsaber replica for the sake of using its light to check out how thoroughly she was soaked in mud. The perfunctory hiss could be heard as the hard plastic rod flared with a bright blue light.

But the moment the light flared, Trudi heard a gasp behind her.

Turning to face the source of this sound, she saw another mud-stained girl who was similarly hiding in the pipe. One who clutched a familiar plush toy.

"Molly?" Trudi whispered.

The clearly frightened girl recoiled from her more thoroughly mud-soaked companion. Her eyes were wide with fear as she tried to distance herself rom Trudi.

"Hey…don't worry." Trudi quietly assured, presenting her lightsaber replica. "I can't do much damage to anyone with this."

Molly Pulaski's hold on the plush toy was tight now as her eyes welled up with tears. "I…I wanna go home." Her shaky voice began. "I don't…wanna do this."

"Hey…I don't, either." Trudi tried not to sound too harsh. "But there's not a lot any of us can do about it right now. You think I don't wanna go back home to Mom and my bro Jason? She's probably worried sick about me right now." The very thought of this provoked unavoidable sorrow in the honor student as her own eyes filled with tears. "She probably…she probably thinks I'm already dead."

"Daddy taught me how to hide." Molly remarked.

"Have you been marking danger zones?" Trudi asked. "If they call this area as a danger zone, you'll need to move before your collar blows up."

Molly just nodded in response. "Okay."

Trudi couldn't help but be curious. "Show me your map."

After an unsure moment, Molly went into her survival pack and produced her laminated map. When Trudi looked it over, she saw that Molly had indeed marked the problem zones with an X, but there were no times marked.

Trudi took out her own map, which had the correct timings. "You need to get the times down, hon. I'll put them on there for you."

Molly simply responded "Okay."

As Trudi marked the map, she had another line of inquiry. "So what weapon did you get?"

After a moment, Molly shook her head emphatically. "No."

Trudi frowned. "What? I'm just curious. I told you. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Molly shook her head once again. "No!"

"Okay, okay, relax. You don't have to tell me." Trudi could see that Molly was clearly getting agitated over the subject, compelling the honor student to back down. "Just thought you might have, like, a machine gun or something."

Molly shook her head. "No."

Trudi nodded. "Well…I figure if we can stick together, we'll at least have a better chance at lasting a couple of days." She began to make her way out of the pipe, trudging through deep mud. "Come on, Molly."

But the frightened girl shook her head once again, remaining where she was. "No."

Trudi sighed loudly. "You can't stay here forever. You don't want that collar to kill you, do you?"

"I'll move when I have to." Molly stubbornly reasoned. "Just leave me alone. I don't wanna do this."

As much as she wanted to continue to try and convince Molly to join her, the young, frightened girl looked and sounded entirely resolute in her desire to remain within the broken pipe. She was certain that Molly was tempting fate through her insistence and her stubbornness. Trying to reason with her any further could quite clearly be an exercise in futility at this point.

Trudi shrugged. "Okay…but you're still gonna need to move sometime." She began to make her way out of the broken, half-submerged pipe. "Good luck, Molly."

Once she was back outside, Trudi hit the button again, and the hiss sound preceded the deactivation of the plastic rod's light.

Although she was still curious about what manner of weapon Molly had, she took her mind off of the frightened young student for the time being. Trudi also noticed that the grinding noise could still be heard in the distance.

As she began to move, however, she heard a terrible scream accompanying the grinding noise.

Trudi shuddered, wondering who it was who was being…innovatively executed.

After a moment, the grinding noise resumed. Realizing that moving towards the source of the grinding noise might be a big mistake given the scream she heard, she opted to move in a different direction.

One which distanced herself further from the admittedly unsettling grinding noise.

* * *

William Han had been proceeding as quietly as he could towards the edge of the island, already planning an independent escape regardless of how futile the effort would ultimately be. In his careful approach to the edge, which was by now within sight, he had expected his collar to begin beeping.

Strangely enough, the collar remained silent.

There was a possible logic to this. This was a prototype BR program. It was possible that they were attempting to perfect the transmitter range for the collar signal. Either that, or Billy had inadvertently discovered a dead zone in the transmitter range.

Billy began to strip down to the swimming trunks he always wore as his underpants, always ready to do a few laps at a moment's notice. The collar was waterproof, so there was no danger of him electrocuting himself in his mad, watery dash to freedom from the survival program. He left his survival pack and his personal pack…and his weapon, a baseball bat…alongside his clothes.

The water was a bit chilly, but it was certainly a tolerable temperature. Such was his nature as a swimmer that he earned the sobriquet "part-fish" by his peers. Some of the students…T.D. members in particular…aptly nicknamed him 'fish'.

He was able to tread water as he began to distance himself from the shore, the bottom sloping down until he was able to float…

…and then, the voice of Mrs. Emerson blared forth among the island-wide loudspeakers. "Nice of you to illustrate the futility of your 'brilliant' idea, Mr. Han."

In the next moment, a dark brown speedboat bearing a large machine gun…piloted, and manned, by the masked soldiers in black…roared out towards Willam Han's position.

"SWIM BACK TO THE ISLAND OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE!" The loudspeaker on the boat announced. "YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS!"

" _FUCK!_ " Billy splashed at the boat in his frustration.

A second, similarly-armed speedboat was roaring in from behind with a warning all its own. "DO NOT DIVE! WE WILL DEPLOY DEPTHCHARGES!"

"Okay! Okay! I'm goin'!" He began to tread water back towards the island. "I'm fuckin' goin'! Back off, man!"

William swam as quickly as he could back towards the shore, cussing angrily as he moved.

One of the machine guns, however, fired off a few shots which exploded just behind Billy as he dressed back up, showering him with dislodged soil. One of the rounds hit one of his sneakers, the remnants of which flipped into the skies.

"OKAY! OKAY! FUCK! I'M GOING!" Billy angrily screamed.

As the boats finally roared away, Billy hurried further onto the shore, scooping up his packs and his weapon in so doing, and once his bare feet found dry land, he began running.

* * *

Ron presented a far more lethal pot lid to Michael Zimmer after shutting down the grinder. The edges had been sharpened, giving them a silvery gleam.

"Be sure to grab it by the center handle." Ron instructed. "Wouldn't wanna cut yourself, after all."

After Mike grasped the lid accordingly, Ron felt a tapping on his shoulder, and heard Issac's voice. "Might not want to make a habit of that. We could have been raided all throughout that racket."

Ron shrugged. "I figured everyone else is busy hunting each other. Besides…thanks to Peter's screaming, and Violet's own scream as I was working on the other side, they probably think someone's making a bloody mess here."

Violet's attention was diverted to what sounded like a pair of students on their way towards the workshop. "INCOMING!" She yelled.

Weapons defensively rose up in the direction of the intruders…

…and they lowered back down when Malcolm Derricks and Vladis Jellinek jogged in.

Issac stepped over to the duo. He nodded to each in turn. "Mister Derricks…Mister Jellinek…"

"Good to see a few friendly faces for once." Malcolm remarked. "Emma Curahee tried to shoot us up with her new toy. She's locked and loaded."

Issac nodded, regarding Malcolm as he spoke. "Daddy probably found a way to tell her who had her ammo."

"I'm _cursed,_ man." Malcolm griped. "First, the protest shooting, now this BR shit."

"We'd have more of a chance of surviving 'this BR shit' if we could find Shuya Nanahara."

Malcolm's expression of disbelief spoke volumes upon hearing Issac's words. "Since when did _that_ become an option?"

"Since Mister Zimmer over here revealed that the so-called 'Butcher of Tokyo' is willing to help us." Issac gestured to Mike, still clutching his sharpened pot lid. "He hasn't given us any reason to think that he wants to play the game, and he could have killed Mister Zimmer when he came looking for food. Mister Nanahara had the best possible opportunity to claim a kill. But? He let Mike live to tell the tale."

"Maybe…I can find him and bring him here?" Mike meekly suggested.

"Is there anyone here who can understand a word he's gonna say?" Peter noted. "He doesn't speak any english. Violet's japanese, isn't she? Maybe she should go with…"

"No." Violet firmly interjected.

"Agreed." Issac added, realizing the risk in Peter's suggestion.

"Isn't there someone else in the class who knows Japanese?" Vladis wondered aloud.

"Walter does." Violet answered, after a moment of cluelessness.

"Really? Mister Abilene knows the language?" Issac looked surprised.

"They should look for Walt first." Ron suggested.

"Wherever he is." Peter added.

"I would suggest the Infirmary." Issac responded. "Walter has a leg wound from the gunshot he took this morning."

"Someone needs to keep Mike safe." Vladis offered. "I'll go with him."

"And you're armed with…what?" Ron wondered aloud.

Vladis pointed to the optics on his helmet. "Night vision."

"I'll go too." Malcolm stepped over to Vladis, showing off his Icepick weapon. "I got me a shank. Silent kill."

"Well…I think Mike can handle himself now that I've made a more lethal frisbee out of his pot lid…" Ron observed. "…but I've a feeling he's gonna need Vlad's night optics once it gets dark."

"Hey…the more, the merrier." Mike noted. "I'd feel a hell of a lot safer with a team than on my own. I nearly shit my pants when Shuya caught me."

"I agree, Mister Zimmer." Issac nodded. "All the same, though. I should remind you all to be very careful out there. Although it's nice to know that some of us want to sabotage the program, there are still students out there who really are playing, and they won't take prisoners. I'm sure Mister Derricks will agree."

"Damn right, I agree." Malcolm added. "That Emma bitch is _crazy._ "

Ron then raised his hand. "You, uh…mind if I tag along as well? Seeing as how Issac and Violet could handle themselves better than I could, given their weapons? All I've got is that Flash-Bang, and that might come in handy if Mal wants those, uh, silent kills. Pete can take over on the grinder if it's needed."

"Heh…you blind 'em, we shank 'em." Malcolm mused. "Works for me. Let's go."

"Spread out as you go." Issac advised. "Don't bunch up in a way where you could all be cut down at once. Remember…Miss Curahee has a fully loaded machine gun, too." He glanced to Ron. "Ho, ho, ho."

* * *

Margaret Turmell knew she was being followed, but she had no idea who it was. She could only hear her pursuer as they continued their impromptu game of hide-and-seek.

As she was a visibly overweight girl, she was working up quite a sweat as she moved. Hiding among trees, diving into thick bushes, crawling on the ground…it became difficult for Margaret to conceal her breathing as she tried to keep out of her unknown assailant's sight. The chase lasted for close to an hour.

Waiting behind a large rock, half of which was embedded in the soil, she listened for the footsteps of her pursuer.

All she heard was the rustling of leaf-heavy tree branches as a brisk wind picked up above the concealed student.

Fifteen long, and ultimately silent minutes passed. No footsteps could be heard.

Margaret heaved a sigh of relief, surmising that her pursuer had given up the chase…

…but her pursuer had chosen to wait for this very moment. She was in close enough range for the bullet to kill her. A smirk formed on Gina Salazar's face as Margaret stepped out from behind the rock. Bringing up her Glock, two shots burst forth from the muzzle, hitting Margaret in the back twice.

A smirking Gina re-engaged the safety on her gun, and then holstered it as she walked away, satisfied with her kill. " _Vaya con dios, graso._ "

Margaret's body laid still. The shots felt like a sharp punch coming from the end of a pole smacking right into her back. The pain certainly felt like genuine bullet hits.

Thirty quiet minutes passed, and then ten more behind that. The large girl's body remained motionlessly prone.

Her first movements were slow. Careful. There was no way for her to know that her assailant, who she now knew to be Alejandro's nasty girlfriend, might be waiting for her to move so she could shoot her again, and this time in an area that was not protected by her 'weapon'…a Kevlar vest…that she wore beneath her school uniform.

Her back still felt very sore, and she winced from the pain as she crawled carefully forward.

Margaret's movements from that moment on were much more cautious as she chose to resume her search for Issac Meyer. Staying out of open sight became her primary determination following the hard lesson she learned in the wake of her confrontation with Gina Salazar.

As the 6pm report was forthcoming, however, she knew she wouldn't be able to play dead for much longer.

* * *

"Right down here!" Mike excitedly confirmed as he led his team through the forest. "It's definitely this way! We should be seeing his encampment any minute now!"

"Stay _low,_ man!" Malcolm griped. "We ain't in any big ol' hurry!"

"I see it!" Mike hissed as he hurried forward more. "I see where he…"

Collars among all but one in the team, however, began a slow beeping. As Ron was bringing up the rear, only his collar remained silent, seeing as he had stopped just outside of the range of zone E-9, which he confirmed by looking at his map quickly.

"Get the fuck out of there!" Ron hissed. "It's a goddamn danger zone now!"

The others were quick to scramble over to where Ron was, and a wave of relief washed over them all as their collars went silent.

"Guess he ain't there no more." Malcolm mused.

Mike sighed, feeling a bit crestfallen. "Sorry, guys."

"The Infirmary is…fairly close from here." Vladis noted as he examined his map. "We can at least check and see if Walter is there."

"Okay, but Mikey? _Stay. Low._ " Malcolm advised, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "We got crazy people with loaded guns out there, and I _know_ you don't wanna be a part of the 6 pm report. Know what I'm sayin'?"

Mike nodded nervously. "Yeah, alright. I'm sorry."

"Lead the way, Vee." Malcolm remarked as the group began moving again. Malcolm and Mike flanked him with their weapons out, while Ron remained behind them.

"Don't bunch up!" Malcolm suddenly hissed as they continued to move, their bodies crouched low. "Spread out a little!"

Although they put some space between each other, all eyes were on Vladis as he continued to look between the map and the area in front of him, hoping that they would eventually see a sign, or some kind of landmark, indicating the presence…if not the close vicinity…of the Infirmary they were actively looking for.

From his rear guard, Ron scanned around him. The right, the left, behind him…he was ready to scream out a warning the moment he felt that the team was being followed.

A second glance to his left, however, stopped Ron in his tracks, as this particular face…which looked a bit frightened here…had always done in the past since he first laid eyes upon the golden-haired nymph of his wet dreams.

He had to approach her. Perhaps she had been given one of those worthless weapons, and was now hoping to find someone who could be her protector. It was a role Ron Jorgensen would always be all too eager to fulfill.

Or, perhaps, she was just plain scared. Frightened that she would be unable to survive a game that demanded acts of murder for a period of three days. It seemed logical that killing went against Gloria's religious tenets. Wasn't 'thou shalt not kill' among the Ten Commandments, after all?

Gloria Angel gestured for Ron to come towards her. Her blouse was partially unbuttoned, showing off the curves of her perky breasts. Ron wondered if someone had tried to take advantage of her. He knew she would need words of comfort, if that was the case.

"Over here." She continued to gesture for Ron to step towards her as she spoke in a hushed tone. "I really wanna talk with someone. Alone."

"Don't worry." Ron assured, also in a quiet tone. "I won't hurt you. We can talk as much as you like. Just keep your voice down."

Gloria nodded, flashing that pleasant smile Ron always liked to see. When they reached a rocky area by a pond, Gloria stopped and turned to flash that very same smile to him as he stopped.

"I'm glad it was you I found, Ron." Gloria quietly cooed. "You've always been so nice to me."

Ron was _very_ nervous now, but it wasn't out of fear. It was because he had never been this close to someone he found so irresistibly attractive. Someone he imagined he would never be able to actually go out on a date with. Someone who he thought was so beautiful that she was practically born with a boyfriend at her side.

He was afraid to even touch her. Even with her standing right in front of him, flashing that sweet smile of hers.

"So…you're still alive, eh?" Gloria gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Did you hook up with anyone, or are you on your own, like me?"

"I…I'm with some others. At the workshop area." Ron responded. "We wanna see about finding a way to get us all out of here without doing what they want us to do. Issac's there with Violet Noda. Peter Ellis, Malcolm Derricks, Mike Zimmer, the Russian kid…they're all there. If you heard a grinding noise a couple of hours ago, that was me."

"But…I heard a scream." Gloria suddenly gasped, her eyes wide. "You didn't _kill_ someone, did you?"

"Oh no, no! That was Peter." Ron assured. "He made it _sound_ like someone was dying."

"Woooow. Smart move!" Gloria sounded very impressed as she grinned. Her tone turned flirtatious. "I bet that was _your_ idea, wasn't it? Don't lie before God. He's always listening."

Ron blushed deeply. As much as he had wanted to take credit for the idea, he remained honest. "Actually, it was Pete's idea. I was sharpening the edge of a pot lid for someone, and he just cut loose with that scream you heard."

Gloria giggled at this, maintaining her disarming grin. "You always seem to attract the smart ones. The nice ones. I've always noticed that with you, Ronny."

Ron figured this was as good a time as any to make the inquiry he had always wanted to put before his dream girl. "Gloria…have…I mean, are you…are you with…anyone?"

Gloria tilted her head to the side in her curiosity. "Do you mean…am I dating anyone?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah…I…hope you don't mind my, um…asking…"

The beautiful blonde, to Ron's complete surprise, shook her head. "I know guys who are interested in me, sure…but those are fornicators. Ugly, unclean guys. I know they just want me for my body. They want lust, not real love. I think lust is disgusting. Cold. Horrible." She stepped in closer to Ron now, the tone of her voice a little more tender as she spoke. "You're not like that, are you, Ronny?"

Ron shook his head, his body now quaking. Her perfume smelled very alluring. "No. Of course not. Y-you deserve to be…to be loved. I mean, really _loved._ Honestly."

Gloria's smile became a more full grin as she wrapped her arms around Ron, holding him tightly. "I knew you'd feel that way. You're such a Prince. Every Prince needs a Princess, don't you think?"

Ron could hardly believe what he was hearing. She was practically offering herself to him! Granted, the timing was downright awful, but…Ron had to surmise the old adage that the Lord works in mysterious ways…

They pressed their foreheads together as Gloria kept her eyes on Ron's. "I think if I ever wanted to go out with someone, I'd want that someone to be as nice as you, Ronny. No joke. This is _real._ "

"I…I-I always…try to be nice." Ron stammered, moist with sweat by now. He felt her hand rub around his crotch. "Always…n-nice."

Gloria nodded slowly, bringing her lips closer to his. "I know." Her eyes became half-lidded. "I know you do."

Gloria then pressed her lips against Ron's in a tender, passionate kiss. Her moist lips slid slowly over his own, which were quivering. The fingers of her right hand gently slid through his hair near the back of his neck as she kissed him.

Ron's eyes were closed. He literally felt like he was in heaven. He wanted to savor every little moment…every fraction of a second…of this exhilarating dream-come-true. He had never been kissed like this. He had never even felt the touch of a girl. He had never even been as close to a girl as he was with Gloria at this very moment. He wished he could fly off of the island with her, and spend the rest of their lives together in spite of the madness that threatened to claim the lives of his middle school friends.

One of Gloria's hands remained behind Ron's head, continuing to caress it, as the blond girl moved her lips from Ron's own mouth to his right ear. He could feel her warm breath against the skin of his ear as she gently spoke.

"You're trembling." Gloria tenderly spoke. "You don't have to be nervous with me, Ronny, my Prince."

Nevertheless, Ron could not help but to continue quaking incessantly. "I…I-I'm fine. I'll…I'll be okay."

Gloria wrapped her other arm around Ron now as she continued to speak alluringly in his ear. "You really do love me, don't you? You've always…truly…deeply…loved me?"

Ron nodded rapidly. "Yes…yes, yes…y-yes…"

Gloria kissed at the skin beneath his ear, her hand continuing to caress his hair as Ron kept his eyes shut, preferring the vision in his mind's eye to the reality of his surroundings.

Her lips moved, once again, to Ron's ear. Her voice remained tender as she spoke.

"Would you be willing to die for me?"

Ron's eyes opened wide with confusion…

…and in the next moment, Gloria's hunting knife punched into the back of Ron's head, cutting through all resistance as the hand that had been caressing her gullible victim's hair had now grabbed a handful of it in a painfully tight grip just above where Gloria had buried her blade.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I really am." Gloria maintained his hold on him as warm blood poured down from his head. "I meant what I said about you being a sweet guy, but…I'm an angel. God sends angels down from heaven to kill for Him. The fornicators must die. The sinners must die. I've seen how you look at me in the halls. There was lust in your eyes every time, wasn't there? You really are no different from all the other fornicators."

Ron's eyes continued to boggle in his shock. His mouth remained agape as blood spilled forth from his mouth. Gloria quietly uttered one last remark before releasing her dying quarry.

"Don't worry, Ron. God will forgive you." She silently assured. "I promise."

Once Ron was on the ground, she waited until he stopped moving, and breathing, before pulling the Hunting Knife from the back of his lifeless head. After cleansing the blade of Ron's blood using water from the nearby pond, Gloria sheathed the knife and began searching his clothes, and then his survival pack, for his weapon. Finding the Flash-Bang grenade, she pulled it out and stored it in her own Survival Pack.

She then stalked away from the dead student's body to resume her hunt for the remaining sinners and fornicators.

 **Boy #9 Jorgensen – dead  
** **31 to go**

* * *

 **/**

 **WOODHAVEN, QUEENS, NY – 3:30 P.M.**

 **Mr./Mrs.** _Malone_ **–**

 **Your son/daughter,** _Trudi Lea Malone_ **, has been chosen to join his/her classmates in a 3-day survival program authorized by the United States Government. There is a chance he/she will not return.**

 **If your son/daughter does not return, you will be properly compensated for your loss. If he/she does return, any and all tuition fees for his/her continuing education will be paid in full by our current administration.**

 **We are in the hopes that your son/daughter will return to you, safe and sound.**

 **Please accept our deepest and most heartfelt condolences if he/she does not.**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Anderson U.S. Grant**

 **President of the United States**

 **/**

Stella Malone remained practically catatonic in the easy chair of the family's two-level suburban house, upon absorbing the contents of the letter, which by virtue of the Presidential seal…and the evident ink in the signing of what was clearly a form letter…was no mere fabrication.

She found it entirely hard to believe that a sitting President would openly lie to the general public. Stella knew what this meant, as she regularly watched morning news programs. She knew about the BR Act, and its terrible effect on families with loved ones who were forced to participate…and die…during the act's cruel Survival Program.

She also knew that no manner of protest would be able to spare her daughter from this travesty. Nurturing any hope of her actually winning would be another exercise in futility, as Trudi would surely need to kill in order to stay alive during the program. Such things would permanently scar her psyche.

But whereas most families may very well descend into despair, Stella's apparent expression of disbelief masked a far more defiant mind. The letter came with the morning's mail, and her husband…who, unlike his wife, was a Grant supporter…was already away at work.

Stella's gaze went from the empty space ahead of her to a photograph that lingered on a nearby mantelpiece. A well-lit family photograph, taken against a flat gray background. A moment in time, captured approximately three years ago.

Coiffed with a buzz-cut, and looking physically ready for more rugged activities, Leonard Malone sported an unusually pleasant grin…and a benign-looking blue plaid long-sleeved shirt…in the photo despite his more authoritarian tendencies, which he often penalized with a particularly harsh rebuke, or even with a more physical form of punishment that was administered, in one violent moment, with his own bare hands.

Stella herself was hardly the sort to wilt in the face of such oppression, having been subjected to loud rebukes from her own husband herself. She was capable of firing off a few potent verbal salvos of her own, as well. Clearly, her bark was far more potent than her bite, or so her academically-gifted daughter Trudi had observed on more than one occasion whenever the rare occasion arose in which she earned Stella's brief, but vivid ire.

As Trudi was such a huge _Star Wars_ fan, Stella had arranged for her daughter to wear the very same hairstyle Princess Leia wore during the throne room sequence that ended the very first film in the saga for the family photo. Her hair was long enough at the time, although Leo had insisted that Trudi go for a haircut afterwards. When she delayed it for a week, she earned a loud rebuke from her father that hastened the unwanted haircut.

Seated next to the smiling Trudi in the photograph was Jason, who was named for the legendary hero of _Jason and the Argonauts_ , even though he never developed the kind of physique his father often flaunted. What he didn't have in physical prowess, however, he made up for with a different, and arguably less lethal, area of knowledge.

It was a talent, however, that he never openly revealed to his parents, given how illegal it was.

It was a talent which, in practice, allowed him to get away with changing grades at his school to make him look good when report cards were printed.

Stella, however, remembered an occasion in which she checked out Jason's grades, but she received an entirely different story regarding his questionable capacity for school study when she went down to the school for Parent-Teacher Night. The line of confusion was clear. If he really was getting good grades, how come his perfectly lucid teachers suggested otherwise?

After talking with some family friends, Stella had only recently figured it out. Jason's school relied on computers to record, and keep track of, the grades of their students. Jason himself was so adept with computers, and had many friends similarly proficient with them, that he nurtured a habit of building his own computer units, which were almost always top-of-the-line in terms of the computer parts used in their construction. He even built his mother the mid-range desktop rig she currently used.

If Jason's grades…printed from recorded computer data…were great, but the teachers spoke otherwise, there was only one real explanation.

Her only son was a hacker.

Some of Jason's friends certainly looked the type, too. Nearly all of them fit the profile of slackers. Slovenly in appearance, with weird hairstyles, untucked shirts, ripped jeans, and patches all over them which promoted music groups, if not trends.

The family picture constituted one of the few occasions where Jason actually looked proper and presentable. Stella could tell, however, that the grin he was flashing in the photo was a fake one. He didn't think very highly of the notion of taking what he deemed a 'corny' picture.

As she immersed herself in thought, however, Stella figured that the 'survival program' used computers in some capacity as well, and if her son was a hacker…

The short-haired, heavy-set housewife's gaze went to the clock above the mantelpiece. It was nearly time for her son to come home from High School. She remained where she was sitting, hoping her only son could help her save her only daughter, until she heard the front door swing open, and the muted sounds of _Freak on a Leash_ by Korn could be barely heard from earphones Jason was wearing.

The ritual was more or less the same for Jason everytime during a school week when he returned home. Walk in, acknowledge his mother, head up to his room, and veg out in front of his computer until bedtime, with a brief break for dinner. Every now and then, his mother would ask a favor of Jason, and he'd roll his eyes in response. He would do as he was asked, but only for the sake of silencing Stella and keeping her from any further interruptions of the after-school private time he savored.

Jason gave his mother the brief wave of acknowledgement as the music continued to blast at his eardrums, but Stella was rising out of her seat with a piece of paper in her hand. He frowned confusedly, seeing as how report cards had not been distributed yet. Perhaps it was a note from school about his conduct?

His steps slowed to a complete halt as his mother…who had a grave expression on her face…held the page out to him.

Upon seeing the presidential seal, and his sister's name, he stopped his music, and pulled his headphones off of his ears. He looked over the words once. Twice. His brow furrowed over two words that seemed to stand out in the letter.

"Survival program?" He asked, his gaze looking back up to Stella.

"It's the same crap they're doing in Japan, Jase." Stella replied. "People _die_ in these programs. Do you really want to see that happen to your sister?"

Although there was no significant sibling rivalry between him and Trudi, he was at a loss, in that moment, as to how her situation applied to him. "No, but…why are you bringing this up to _me?_ What am I supposed to do about this?"

Stella crossed her arms in front of her. "I know there's something you can do, Jason. It's something which I know you can do, but you never told me you could do, which I can understand. After all…" She stepped in closer to her son, locking her eyes on his. "…hacking is illegal."

This last statement drained the color from Jason's face. There was no way he could hide the nervousness that was now clearly evident in his expression. "I…don't…know what…you're talking about."

Stella's tone was more firm now. "I went to the last Parent-Teacher Night, Jason. Don't you dare lie to me. If I'm seeing passing grades on your report cards, but your teachers are telling me much more believable stories about you not taking your education very seriously, what conclusion do you think I should come to? Hmm?"

Jason shrugged. "My teachers hate me."

"No." Stella shook her head. She clearly wasn't buying it. "Jason…this kind of thing can get you in very serious trouble. You can get arrested for doing this, you know."

"Hey, Mom…eye on the ball much?" Jason protested as his irritation rose. "What the f…uh, what does this have to do with what happened to…" He finally put two and two together. "…wait a minute."

Stella smirked. "Think you're good enough to hack in and see if you can find out anything about your sister? Maybe even do some _good,_ if you can?"

Jason's eyes widened. "Are you _serious?_ Look…the only reason I've been screwing around with the school's database is because it's _easy_. This is the _government_ we're talking about."

"So you'd rather wait for the news that your sister was killed on an island somewhere?" Stella yelled. "Killed by one of her own classmates?"

"Mom, they could have some pretty big firewalls up around their shi…well, you know, their s-stuff." Jason stammered. "It's not gonna be as easy!"

"Get your friends to help you then!" Stella sounded dead serious now as she continued to loudly make her point. "I don't want my daughter on any kind of island, with any kind of weapon, killing _anybody!_ And if you don't want me to go and tell the Police about your past hacking habits, neither do you!"

"Oh, Jesus, Mom…blackmail much?"

"I don't care how long it takes you. I don't care if you're up all night. Just do it." Stella commanded. "I'll get you your meals, but I don't want you leaving your room until you can break in and find out if Trudi's still alive. Do you have any tests coming up at school?"

Jason shook his head.

"Good, because as of right now, you're out sick." Stella noted, which visibly raised one of Jason's eyebrows in his astonishment. "Get on that computer of yours right now, and do whatever the hell it is you hackers do."

"But Mom…" Jason looked wary, and for good reason. "…w..wwwhat about Dad?"

"Your father doesn't have to know anything for now." Stella answered. "Just get up there and get busy. _Now._ I'll get your chicken leftovers in the oven."

After a moment of lingering confusion, Jason finally relented. "O-okay."

With hurried steps, Jason…whose short hair had long bangs that consistently flapped against one eye…breached the door with the large, custom-made 'no entrance on pain of nuking' poster on it, and made his way through his own visibly unkempt and smelly room to reach his equally messy computer desk. Once the necessary power strip was on, he pressed down on the large power button along the upper rib of his upright computer tower, seeing the necessary lights come on, and hearing the many cooling fans within his large, heavy tower come to life once again.

It was surprisingly easy for Jason to recruit his fellow hackers in the online chatroom to his risky and impromptu task, seeing as how two of them were not only japanese, but had friends and family who were lost to past survival programs.

One of them…a girl with the name 'Mimura' in her handle…even promised to get additional help.


	8. VII: The Third Report

**VII: The Third Report**

 _"_ _In life, there's only the winning or the losing. Is that really true?"  
_ _\- Riki Takeuchi, "Battle Royale II: Requiem"_

 **6:00 P.M.**

A sharp kick at one of the metal legs of the cot Cassandra Emerson was napping on brought the faculty representative to life once again, although she looked particularly groggy. Captain Curahee glanced at the coffee table that had been moved to the front of the cot, and he noticed evidence of a substance that _looked_ like granulated sugar, but the presence of a small straw by the remnants of the white powder suggested otherwise.

Cassandra frowned up at the Captain, squinting through the bright light.

"Time to do the report." Curahee grumbled. He then handed her a computer printout. "Death manifest."

Cassandra rose to her feet and slowly walked to the waiting microphone. She looked at the printout through half-lidded eyes, her expression going sour upon seeing the minimal writing. "Jesus Christ. Little bastards are slacking again. Fucking cowards. Probably still playing 'rebel alliance' with each other."

"When you're done with your report," Curahee remarked. "we need to talk."

"Yeah, yeah, fine." The older woman grabbed the microphone and signaled for one of the soldiers at the consoles to begin playing a tune, which was revealed to be the instrumental theme to _Star Wars_ , arranged as a space disco tune by a musician called Meco in the late 1970s.

"Good evening, rebel scum! It's Darth Bitch again." Cassandra amusedly began. "I'm playing this in honor of all you dumb shit-stains gathering at the Workshop thinking you can actually sabotage the BR program and get away with your lives. I can already think of a few people who might have a problem with _that_ 'brilliant' idea. You should know that according to our japanese friends, every single time they have tried a rebellion against the program, it always ends in failure, so why embarrass yourselves?" The woman paused a moment to sniffle a bit. "Okay…so you're probably asking yourselves. Who died? Who lost out on the chance to live out the rest of their educational lives on the United States Government's more exclusive dime? Well…I'm convinced, by now, that you're all a bunch of cowardly wussies, seeing as how we have all of _two_ …count 'em, _two_ …casualties to report tonight. Boy #19, Vincent Willits, and Boy #9, Ron Jorgensen."

The eyes of everyone at the Workshop, and those of the team Ron was with, widened with shock at the revelation that their friend had been killed. Issac was expecting to hear the names of the others in Mike Zimmer's team, but he was at least thankful that only two had died. He came to the conclusion that Ron had been executed quietly, as they heard no gunshots or explosions between the time Ron left with Mike's team, and the moment Mrs. Emerson had begun her daily report.

"Let's give your collars another chance to beep, courtesy of another fresh batch of danger zones." Cassandra continued. "From 7:00 p.m., Zone C-4, From 9:00 p.m., Zone F-8, and from 10:00 p.m., Zone B-8." Lowering the page in front of her, she shared her latest quote of the day. "In the words of Oscar Wilde, 'patriotism is a virtue of the vicious'. Well, let's hope that the vicious ones among you are hungry enough to wipe out all those patriotic rebels in the workshop, because I'm losing my patience here. Don't try anything stupid, or I'm liable to foam at the mouth and start detonating those collars prematurely. Happy hunting…you chicken-shit fuckheads."

"I'm surprised you didn't invoke Thomas Jefferson." Captain Curahee mused as Cassandra turned away from the microphone. "He had the better quote about patriots."

"And tyrants." The educator quickly added. "They would have thrown that one back in our faces."

"Uh-huh…" He took a step closer to Cassandra with a more accusing expression. "…so is there something you wanna tell me about the powder, Cass? It sure as fuck ain't talcum, that's for sure."

"Captain…" She crossed her arms in front of her chest, grinning. "…you're a soldier, not a Narc. Mind your grunts."

Curahee's tone turned threatening. "I don't like working with drug addicts."

"Uh-huh…and what do you think the BR people are going to think when I tell them you gave your daughter an edge in this program?" Cassandra challenged. "You think I don't know about the message you slipped into her bag? About deliberately giving your daughter the pack that you knew had a submachine gun? About where Emma could get the ammo for that gun?"

"I'm not stupid, Cass." Curahee shot back. "I heard a teacher in Japan threw a knife into the head of a kid before a BR program got started. I'm entitled to the same kind of liberty."

"We're not talking about liberty here, jar-head." Cassandra responded. "We're talking about _cheating_. There's a regulation in the BR-USA rules set forbidding your little 'liberty', isn't there?"

"What if it were _your_ daughter? Or a son?" Curahee challenged. "Put yourself in _my_ place, you coke-faced bitch!"

"I can't put myself in your place." Cassandra shrugged, in her amusement. "I never married, and I don't have any kids. I _hate_ the little bastards. I'd sooner blow my brains out than procreate in this day and age."

Curahee went silent, looking a bit stunned by this statement.

"So…we have an agreement, yes?" Cassandra noted. "You keep your mouth shut about my magic powder, I keep quiet about your biased cheating. Savvy?"

Curahee responded with a menacing, hateful stare. Not a word emerged from his lips.

"Think of this as… _my_ way of refreshing the tree of liberty." Cassandra thoughtfully mused.

Curahee's response went unspoken. _Fuck you, too._

The Captain quietly turned his attention back to the computer monitors, his eyes already scanning for the whereabouts of Girl #4 as the smirking Cassandra walked back to her cot.

* * *

 **BIVOUAC POST #3**

It was one of four posts established on the edges of the island by the black ops unit. It was at one of these posts that the patrolling speedboats could re-arm and re-fuel, or shuttle more troops around as needed.

Six men were assigned to each of them. Two for the speedboat…one to fire its weapon, the other to drive the boat…and four stationed at the Bivouac. Two would man the computer stations, and two were established as guards for the post.

The computer monitors at the bivouac had switchable feeds, one of which allowed the soldiers to keep track of the movements of the kids in the program in the same manner as those in the school.

One of the two soldiers looked crestfallen. The second man glanced over to his partner with an amused smile. "What made you want to put money on _Ron Jorgensen_ , anyway?"

"He's a shop guy. I figured he'd get creative." The second soldier replied. "Never knew he had a thing for that blonde. I should have put my money on _her._ "

"Don't let the Cap hear you say that, Private Brenner." The soldier warned. "You wanna get on his good side, you'll bet on his daughter, like the rest of us."

Brenner frowned as he turned to his partner. "And what makes you think everyone else bet on his kid, Curtis? Just because she's got a loaded weapon doesn't mean she's gonna last. We've got two more days, brother. It's waaay too early to jump to conclusions."

As Brenner spoke, Curtis…who had his eye on the computer monitor, observing the movements of the onscreen numbers representing the students…pressed a button on his console to engage a two-way link with one of the post's two guards. "Devane, I have three tangos closing on this post. Stay sharp."

"Roger." Devane radioed back. "Gimme a number readback?"

Curtis checked the onscreen trio of numbers against a laminated list before responding. "Boy numberrrr…three, boy number ten, and boy number thirteen. If they come within ten clicks, you know the drill."

"Will do." Devane confirmed.

"Advise Shanley in case you need backup." Curtis noted. "Out."

Devane knew that Shanley would be quick to respond if the shit hit the fan, so he didn't bother to make the advisory. He was even able to confirm, from afar, that his fellow sentry was maintaining his stationary, solitary vigil within the thick brushes nearby.

What Devane didn't know, however, was that Pvt. Bill Shanley's MP5 Machine Gun was missing, the onset of rigor mortis had kept his kneeling body upright behind the sandbags of his guard post like a balanced doll, and that his blood…a lot of it…was subtly dripping through his mask. The mask was also hiding a fatal wound. A deep gash that cut right across his face, and into his skull.

A gash inflicted by the fierce impact of a hand axe.

* * *

The tapping of cold metal against her forehead jerked Annabeth Grant out of her unexpected nap as she sat near the recovering Walter Abilene. Standing in front of her was Martin Norris, who was using the flat edge of his solid gold butcher knife to awaken her.

"Your turn on watch, Annie." Martin reminded.

Annabeth checked the digital clock on her compass to confirm that the agreed-upon time had arrived, and she rose from her seat to step outside. She couldn't help but feel a little nervous for the fact that if anyone did come to raid the infirmary, all she had to defend herself with was her Butter Knife.

The best she could do, under the circumstances, was to scream out a warning.

The weapons the others had was not much better. Walter had his laser light, and Martin was armed with that gold blade. If any of the students with fully loaded weapons wanted to make a play for the infirmary, all three of them would likely be cut down quite easily.

Nevertheless, the last thing she wanted to show was fear. Especially with a boy she liked trying to recover from a bad leg wound.

She expected to hear the sounds of gunfire, or more screams, or even the grinding noise she had heard earlier, during the first hour of her watch.

Through the sounds of the night that were rising up during her watch, however, a familiar voice jerked her head to her right, her eyes wide with shock.

" _Hoka hey_ , Annie-beth."

At first, she saw a shroud in the vague shape of a person. When it stepped into the moonlight, Annabeth confirmed that it was indeed Moriah Houk.

A _bloodstained_ Moriah Houk.

" _Moe?_ " She remained bewildered as she stepped towards the native american girl, who kept a firm grip on her hand axe, and had a brown leather strap running across her body. Annabeth kept her voice quiet as she spoke. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Moriah shrugged. "Nothing. I'm fine. Are you alone?"

Annabeth shook her head. "Walt is inside resting. We've been treating his leg wound."

Moriah raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Martin Norris. That…sweepstakes winner." Annabeth answered.

"Wow." Moriah's tone was tinged with sarcasm. "So quick to trust someone you don't even know."

"What makes you think I trust him?" Annabeth shot back, grinning. "He doesn't have a loaded gun, at least. Turns out his weapon is a solid gold butcher knife."

"Which can still slice open Walter's throat while he's sleeping." Moriah noted. "And you're out _here?_ "

Annabeth shrugged. "Someone's gotta keep watch while we're here. Even though all I have…" She disgustedly pulled out her weapon. "…is this fucking butter knife."

"You want an upgrade?" Moriah then asked.

Annabeth frowned confusedly. "What do you mean?"

And that was when Moriah revealed the reason why she had a leather strap across her chest. Carefully pulling the weapon she had acquired from the unaware soldier during her impromptu sneak attack near Bivouac Post #3, Moriah presented Annabeth Grant with a fully-loaded 9mm Heckler & Koch MP5 Submachine Gun.

Gobsmacked by the unexpected offering, Annabeth stood in shocked silence for nearly a minute. "How the _hell_ did you get this?"

Moriah shrugged again. "I got lucky."

"Is it…loaded?" Annabeth asked, remembering that Survival Packs containing firearms were empty.

Moriah gestured to the MP5. "That one is, sure. Safety's on. Oh…" She went into her Survival Pack and casually handed off three magazines. "…these go with that, too."

"And how am I supposed to explain how I _got_ this, Moe?"

"You found it during your watch." Moriah reasoned. "C'mon, girl. You're a smart cookie. Make shit up."

Annabeth sighed. "Right. I'm supposed to convince Martin that I got a loaded machine gun off of someone using my trusty Butter Knife."

"Or you witnessed someone get stabbed by Gloria Angel, you waited for her to leave, and then you went over and you got his or her gun." Moriah explained. "Annie…no one knows who got what weapon until we see the damn things in our hands."

"Sooo…who did you get _this_ off of, then?" Annabeth asked.

A long pause followed before Moriah, who was initially hesitant to reveal the truth, finally came clean. "I got it off one of those soldiers. The guy stepped away from his post to take a shit. He pulled off his mask to get some fresh air while he was squatting. That's when I pounced. This is _war,_ Annie-beth. They want us to kill each other. This is my way of telling them to go _fuck_ themselves."

"You…killed…one of the soldiers…" Annabeth sounded entirely aghast at the thought. "…Jesus Christ, Moe. If they find out we're fucking with Curahee's men, we could _all_ die before we even get to day three! Or _you_ will, at least!"

A chillingly emotionless expression was now on Moriah's face, which had drops of Shanley's blood sprinkled all over it. "Everybody dies. That's the chance I was willing to take to send the message, Annie-beth."

Annabeth began to warm to the idea of her 'upgrade' as she gazed down at it. She located the gun's safety lever as she examined it. One last bit of curiosity compelled her to look back up at Moriah and ask her next question. "And you didn't want to keep this for yourself?"

Moriah shook her head, and then presented her hand axe, which was decorated with the other feathers she had with her. "This is all I'll need."

Another thought occurred to Annabeth as she continued to ponder the advantages…and the disadvantages…of her 'upgrade'. "If they see me with this, they could accuse _me_ of killing that soldier, you know."

"With a butter knife?" Moriah reasoned. "No one has to know where you got that, Annie. Look…if anyone ever asks where you got it…"

"…I'll just say something like 'don't ask'." Annabeth reasoned as she slung the weapon across her back.

"There ya go. See? No need to pull teeth over it." Moriah responded. "You might want to set that thing to fire one round at a time, by the way."

Annabeth nodded, and then stepped forward to wrap Moriah's pudgy body in a tight hug. "Thanks, killer. I won't rat on you. I promise." She then pulled away from her bloodstained friend. "Just promise me in return that you won't make a habit of that risk."

Moriah shook her head, however. "Can't do that. Did you hear Mrs. Emerson? There's a rebellion brewing at the Workshop. That's where I'm going next. I want in."

A thought occurred to Annabeth. "Can you wait with us until morning, Moe? I wanna go with you. We can bring Walt along, and you can keep an eye on Martin."

Moriah spent a long moment thinking on this before she responded. "What the hell. I could use a break from all my wanderings. Besides…I could go in and say hi to your future husband."

Annabeth smirked as a smiling Moriah stepped into the Infirmary. Her grip on the hand axe tightened in her concern that this Martin person might have actually tried to kill Walter Abilene in his sleep.

Fortunately, however, that was not the case, although Walter was still bedridden when she found him.

Martin was by the bed, and she could already see that he wasn't doing a very good job of guarding Walter.

He had fallen asleep himself. She could even hear him snoring.

Shaking her head, Moriah knelt by the side of Walter's bed.

She then caught the sound of movement behind her, firing up her reflexes. The snoring suddenly stopped. "Heeyyyy." Martin quietly remarked. "What do we…"

A flash of steel preceded the sudden presence of the blade of a hand axe, which pressed against the throat of Martin Norris. He immediately raised his hands in surprise. "Whoa."

Angling her head to Martin, Moriah put the index finger of her free hand to her lips. "Shhhh."

She then turned her head back to Walter, who was coming out of his own nap to turn his own head towards his native american friend. "Mrrriah? Is…izzzzat you?" He wearily asked.

Moriah kept the axe against Martin's throat as her eyes remained on Walter. "Hi, Walt!" She gingerly chirped, smiling. "How's your leg?"

"Still a little sore, but…better. Should be able t' walk by tomorrow, I think." Walter replied.

"He's got a lot of painkillers in him." Martin added. "Wound's been cleaned and re-bandaged, too."

Walter's eyes widened a little as his eyes lingered on Moriah. "Hey…that's not _your_ blood, is it?"

"Nope!" Moriah answered.

Martin frowned. "Who'd you kill? That Ron guy?"

"Nope!" Moriah answered again.

"No, wait, wait, don't tell me…it was that spic with the tats, right? The one who said he'd win before he left the classroom?"

"Hey, Martin…enough." Walter chided, sitting up in the bed. "We're all alive. That's all that matters."

"For now, anyway." Martin muttered.

"Annie-beth wants to come with me to the workshop tomorrow." Moriah explained. "Think you'll be strong enough to tag along?"

"Hell, yeah." Walter answered. "If a resistance is brewing there, I want in."

"Cop some Z's, then, paleface." She gestured to the bed. "I'll watch over the place."

"Hey!" Martin protested. "That's _my_ job!"

"Which you fell asleep doing." Moriah countered.

"I was…I was _faking_ it!" Martin whined.

"Martin…" She turned to the boy behind him, keeping the axe blade at his throat. "…do you have any idea as to what kinds of painful, nauseating things I can do to someone's neck with a hand axe? Hmm? Would you like me to demonstrate?"

"Uhh…on second thought…" Martin now flashed a meek grin. "…take over."

* * *

Manuel Ortiz kept the optics on the small pair of binoculars…the 'weapon' in his Survival Pack…trained on one of the patrolling speedboats as it slowed to a halt at Bivouac Post #3. Behind him were Patrick Dane and Herman Krieger.

"Yeah…that one looks just like the other post." Manuel lamented as he lowered his optics. "Same number of men, too. Two on the boat, four at the post itself."

"Ve should mark dem on our maps." Herman advised.

"If we had two more grenades, I'd feel optimistic." Patrick sat upon the grass, sighing lamentedly. "But you only have two, Blitz."

"Maybe if we get a good enough toss on the grenade while the boat's parked, we could wipe out the whole post." Manuel suggested. "I saw gas tanks there, after all."

"And if ve can take out at least _vun_ of dose posts," The bulky young dutchman knelt next to his skeptical friend, placing a hand on his shoulder as he spoke. "dat gives us an opening to use! A chink in de armor!"

"Blitz, we need to expose ourselves to be able to get close enough to throw." Patrick explained. "That big gun they have there would cut us to shreds before we could even pull the pin. It's no good, guys."

Manuel gave the dispirited jock a look of disappointment. "Well, aren't _you_ chock full of optimism. _Madre de dios_ …all I got was this lousy pair of binoculars. You don't see _me_ calling it quits!"

This brought Pat to his feet, and he approached Manuel with a more angry expression. "I got…a paper airplane, Manny. Literally." He then grabbed the smaller student by his collar and pulled his face closer to Pat's own as he screamed. "A _PAPER FUCKING AIRPLANE!_ You know? The kind you fold together from any old piece of paper? How am I supposed to defend myself with a paper airplane, huh? Throw it at someone with a loaded gun and hope it hits him in the eye? If it were _bulletproof_ paper, THEN I'd be happy! But it is just…fucking…PAPER!"

"Pat! Pat! Calm down! Let him go!" Herman pleaded, grabbing one of Pat's wrists. "Don't lose your cool! Dat's vat dey vant! For us to kill each other!"

Manuel looked _very_ scared. His voice was weak and shaky as he spoke. "I…I-I'm just…tryin' t' help, Pat."

The frustrated jock's stress began to settle. Pat's eyes closed as his tight grip on Manuel's collar began to loosen up. He never had any beef with Manuel Ortiz in school, even if he wasn't the kind of kid who would physically fit right in with well-built groups like the T.D. He only knew Manuel to be just another face in their mutual homeroom, and one who always kept to himself at that.

Pat slowly released his grip on Manuel, sighing regretfully. "I know. I'm sorry, dude. Really." He rubbed at his eyes in his lingering frustration. "Why couldn't I have gotten a gun? Or a knife? Or even a _grenade?_ I would have been happy with either one. Something _other_ than a folded piece of paper!"

Manuel nodded in agreement, but curiosity set in. "Do you still have it, or did you throw it away?"

Pat shook his head. "Still in my pack."

"Well, let's see it." Manuel reasoned. "I have a feeling there's something more to it."

In his extreme frustration over the horribly mundane nature of his 'weapon', it never occurred to him that there might be something…perhaps a code of some kind, in barely-noticeable letters, perhaps…on the paper that was used to create the airplane. At first glance, the paper did seem totally blank and free of writing, but he had never restored its folded form to that of the piece of untouched paper it had once been.

Upon re-opening his pack, Pat rummaged through until he found the paper airplane. As Herman and Manuel watched, Pat de-constructed its form until it was a piece of blank, 8 ½ x 11" piece of paper with evident crease marks.

Looking on both sides of the page, however, revealed nothing. No codes, no secret numbers, nothing at all.

"There's nothing on here, dude." Pat remarked.

Manuel held out his hand. "May I?"

Passing the page to Manuel, he immediately noticed that the texture was not the same on both sides, and the page felt a touch heavier than most pages he had handled in his part-time job at a copying store.

"This…side of the page…" Manuel began as he examined the paper. "…feels like…" He began to flick a fingernail against one corner of the page. "…something…that peels off…"

Sure enough, the corner of the page split into two, and a bit of writing was underneath it. Once Manuel carefully pulled off the page concealing what was beneath, they discovered that the paper was more than just an airplane.

It was an assembly diagram for what appeared to be an assault rifle. Manuel displayed it before his two companions. Herman gave the diagram a closer look.

"Dis is…dis has to be de plans for de Battle Maid veapon." Herman deduced, after the wide eyes of all three students lingered on the diagram for the AR-15 Assault Rifle. "Ve should get dis to de Vorkshop!"

"Wait a minute…" Manuel scanned the diagram, looking at one particular aspect of it. "…this piece here looks familiar."

Zipping open his Survival Pack, he rummaged through it…and produced the oddly-shaped black metal piece which was a perfect match to one of the required assembly pieces for the AR-15.

At that point, Manuel began to wonder how many of the other pieces of the assault rifle had been discovered. The workshop had to be his next destination, whether the jocks he ran into wanted to go with him or not. Neither of them had rifle pieces, but Pat had its fully-intact blueprint. A part of Manuel certainly found it amusing that Pat didn't pick up on the possibility that there was more to the paper airplane than what he perceived it as.

"We need to head for the Workshop." Manuel concluded as he brought his head back up from the diagram. "See how many pieces they've found."

"Dere's also de matter of de ammunition." Herman reminded. "De rifle vill be useless unless ve find out vhere de clips are."

"Maybe we can get a handle on who's playing the game…" Pat offered. "…and who wants to escape it."

Manuel nodded. "So…Workshop next?"

Pat nodded back in confirmation. "Let's go."

* * *

Adele Nurmi and Deidre Vandervelde carefully trailed Kevin Mintner during his wanderings, remaining at a distance far enough to keep them from being discovered. It definitely seemed like the T.D. member was on the hunt for something…or someone.

Or both.

As the afternoon light began to dissolve, and the sounds of crickets could be heard adding to the daily cacophony of the evening hours, Kevin's movements slowed to the point where he stopped, and lowered to the ground to dig into his Survival Pack. Pulling a portion of the food in the pack, he began to eat what passed for dinner in the BR program, which was not much different from breakfast and lunch in its simplicity.

Seeing that he had stopped by a tree, and noting that he had been following a visible trail as they followed him, Adele saw that there were a few trees flanking the path that was ahead of him.

The determined goth girl judged that it was time to implement her plan. Her want to acquire Kevin's shotgun, load a round, kill him, and potentially win the game with the rest of the shells in her Survival Pack.

Her first step, however, was to make sure Deidre was out of harm's way. Quietly gesturing for 'Spooky' to follow, the two girls crept to a tree that she figured was large enough to hide Adele.

Although she was well out of Kevin's earshot, she spoke very quietly as she regarded Deidre. "OK…I want you to stay the fuck out of sight while I do this, spooky. Find someplace big enough to disappear behind."

Deidre frowned in her confusion. "You don't want me to help you?"

Adele placed a hand, which was damp with sweat, against Deidre's cheek. "I have to do this alone, babe. Remember…I'm doing this for _us._ We're gonna _rule_ this fucking game once I have that shotgun."

Deidre nodded, still looking a bit scared. "Be careful."

Adele pressed her lips against Deidre's in a loving kiss. "No matter what happens…we'll always have the Moon, Spooky."

As Deidre hurried away to find a spot where she could not only capably disappear, but maintain the benefit of observing Adele's impending attempt to acquire Kevin Mintner's weapon, Adele herself pulled out the bottle of Chloroform, and the rag that came with it. She drenched the rag in the strong-smelling liquid, and took her place behind a tree along the path ahead of the T.D. jock.

She also pulled a single shotgun shell from the box in her Survival Pack, gripping it in her other hand. It was vital for her to get the round in the chamber as fast as possible once she had the shotgun.

Kevin was in the midst of finishing his 'dinner' when Adele positioned herself. In the next moment, Adele heard the sound of a stream of liquid hitting the ground where Kevin was, indicating that he had decided to relieve his bladder prior to resuming his stroll along the path.

Audible footsteps began to approach Adele's position. She figured she'd wait until he had passed the tree. She had been waiting for this impending act of revenge for a long time. The anticipation was clearly building within her. She hoped the fickle finger of Fate would favor her this evening.

Once Kevin had walked past the tree Adele was behind, the vengeful goth girl pounced.

Adele's first attempt to get the rag over his mouth, however, was off by a few inches. The rag had been pressed against Kevin's left cheek as they began to struggle. The jock's nose had already picked up on the strong scent coming from the rag. He immediately figured out what his assailant was trying to do.

The goth girl, however, had a pretty tight grip on him. His only option was to smash her against a nearby tree as hard as he could and hope her grip would loosen up. Launching himself backwards just as Adele brought the rag up for a more accurate cover on his mouth, Kevin heard the student groan painfully as she struck the bark behind her. Another, much stronger smack against the tree, and Adele's grip finally loosened. Once the goth girl slipped off of him, he grabbed her and violently swung her against the tree, one more time, and as hard as he could.

Given Kevin's strength, the impacts visibly seemed to take a lot out of Adele, who looked like she was in pain from the way she was now clutching her chest. Blood could be seen leaking out of one corner of her black-painted lips as she groaned in agony.

Kevin immediately recognized her now. "Jesus…it's the fucking witch. Why am I not surprised?"

Despite her pain, Adele glared hatefully at the jock, growling through gritted teeth even as she continued to clutch at her throbbing chest. "Gimme that goddamn gun."

Kevin feigned surprise as he held up his shotgun amusedly. "You want this, eh? Yeah, sure. Come an' get it, freak!"

Tightly gripping his weapon, he then slammed the metal portion of the shotgun right into Adele's face as she moved towards him, recoiling her back against the tree. Screaming in her outright fury, she once again pounced on the jock, grabbing his weapon with both hands as they fell to the ground.

Adele furiously attempted to wrestle the shotgun out of Kevin's hands as they rolled around in the soil beneath them, but Kevin had the benefit of the rigorous physical training required to be a Football player. There was no way Adele's natural strength could overcome Kevin's grip on the unloaded weapon.

That's when Adele attempted to bite down, as hard as she could, on one of Kevin's hands. The jock screamed painfully upon feeling this. He felt warm liquid leak from around the area the girl had so deeply and furiously bitten.

Their struggles nevertheless continued. This time, however, Adele had the benefit of Kevin using only one of his hands to try and keep the shotgun held. The goth girl definitely felt like she had a chance now.

What she didn't notice, however, was that her impacts against the tree forced her to drop the shotgun shell that she had in her other hand. It was now idly lying on the ground near where the two were struggling.

"Get the fuck… _off_ me, bitch!" Kevin growled as they continued to fight and wrestle over the shotgun. Their efforts were almost animalistic now as they grunted and groaned.

Deidre had found a good enough vantage point to be able to watch the fighting while being fairly well-concealed at the same time…

…but then, her collar began beeping!

Quickly checking her compass, she saw that it was 9:00 p.m. She was in Zone F-8, which had just become a Danger Zone!

As the beeping began to quicken, Deidre took off as fast as she could, distancing herself from the fighting by consequence, as all other directions were impassable. Just as the beeping reached a fatally rapid-fire frequency, the collar suddenly went quiet.

Deidre heaved a relaxed breath as she dropped to her knees in exhaustion. She then looked around to see if anyone was in the vicinity. She was fortunately alone, and in a stretch of open plains.

Adele and Kevin, however, were nowhere to be seen at all.

Pulling out her map, she tried to find a way back in a manner that would take her around the Danger Zone rather than through it.

Adele and Kevin, in the meantime, continued to wrestle for control of Kevin's shotgun. In their struggling, they found themselves close to Adele's Survival Pack. Resting idly next to the pack was the bottle of Chloroform.

Adele's next desperate tactic, however, was to put a hand near his eyes and push her thumbnail into one of them. The nail went right against the moist, squinting eye, and she angrily pushed the nail deeper as Kevin screamed.

This earned Adele a vicious blow right to the bridge of her nose, courtesy of the shotgun's shoulder stock. Before Kevin could strike her again with the shotgun's butt, however, Adele viciously kicked the jock right in his balls as he rose to his feet, sending him to his own knees as Adele reached for the Chloroform bottle.

Kevin's one good eye, however, spotted a single shotgun shell lying in the soil.

Fighting through their agonies in one desperate moment, Adele went for the Chloroform, and Kevin reached out to snatch the shell.

Twisting the cap off, the enraged, battered goth girl figured she could blind his other eye with the chemical compound by splattering his only remaining eye with what was left in the bottle. She once again leaped at him, screaming with rage.

Kevin, however, had managed to quickly get the shell into the chamber. Lurching back, Kevin quickly pointed the barrel towards Adele, still in mid-air, and pulled the trigger of his loaded weapon.

The resultant shotgun blast froze Deidre in her tracks as she began making her way around the Danger Zone, heading back towards Adele and Kevin. Her eyes went wide as she wondered what had happened.

Her steps were understandably more hurried as she referenced the map repeatedly in her efforts to get back to Adele. She needed to go through a portion of a forest as she moved. The entire time, her collar remained quiet.

Nearly an hour later, Deidre noted that the areas she was quickly traveling through looked much more familiar now. It was clear that she was coming close to the tree-flanked path where Adele chose to lock horns with Kevin Mintner.

She hoped to see Adele standing over Kevin's dead body. No other shots had been fired during her detour-enforced journey. She wondered if the shot went wild, or if it had killed one of them. She obviously hoped that it was Kevin who was dropped by the blast.

Her hurried steps slowed, however, when she finally arrived at the forest path where Adele and Kevin were fighting. A single body laid across the path, its head obliterated into a mass of blood, flesh, and brains from the point-blank discharge of the shotgun.

Once Deidre stopped by the body, she dropped her knees into a thick scarlet puddle as she stared down, in complete disbelief, at the remnants of her beloved, and now lifeless, girlfriend. The woman she had wanted to marry.

And the worst part about this grim, horrific discovery was that there was nothing left of Adele's face. From the day they had first met each other, Deidre would always say that she could stare at Adele Nurmi's face for hours and hours, acknowledging how utterly beautiful she believed it to be.

And now, it was quite literally gone.

Stunned into shocked silence, Deidre reached a hand down to drench it in a puddle of Adele's blood which was on her abdomen. She then pressed the bloodstained hand against her own face.

Dipping an index finger into the pooled blood at Adele's abdomen, she placed the dripping finger into her mouth, and sucked all of the thick scarlet liquid from it as she pulled the finger back out.

Deidre continued to stare down for a long moment, still on her knees, reminiscing about all the wonderful moments they shared in their lives during their time in school. She was looking forward to graduating with Adele, and perhaps going to the same High School together.

All Deidre could do, for the moment, was let the tears flow freely. She didn't care, in that moment, how much noise she was making as she dropped over Adele's lifeless body, and openly sobbed.

She didn't care if she was spotted, and killed, during her lament.

All Deidre wanted to do in that moment was to die, and hope that her spirit would join her beloved in the afterlife.

Despite her long bout of sobbing, however, no one interrupted her mourning. Only the sounds of a burst from an automatic weapon in the distance temporarily broke the silence.

A few long and silent minutes later, she slowly wandered away from Adele's remains like a zombie, and with just as lifeless an expression on her mascara-streaked, bloodstained face.

 **Girl #12 Nurmi – dead  
** **30 to go**

* * *

The first burst of gunfire sent the trio scattering for hardpoints. Manuel Ortiz was able to get behind a tree. Herman Krieger headed behind a large, half-submerged rock, and Patrick Dane found a set of thick bushes to try and disappear into.

The barrel of Emma Curahee's Uzi was still smoking as she slowly stalked upon the area where the three hardpoints were located. Her eyes scanned to the left, and then to the right, as she took her careful steps.

Her eyes went wild, however, at the sight of Gina Salazar taking aim with her Glock from one side of a tree trunk.

A second burst discharged in Gina's direction, the rounds crashing near her position. None of the shots made contact with the tough latino girl's tattooed flesh.

Emma then began charging towards Gina, who retreated from her position. The two girls quickly disappeared into the distance.

Manuel heaved a sigh of relief as he stepped away from his hiding spot. Herman rose up from behind his rock, and Pat Dane growled a swear of disgust as he emerged from the bushes. Herman noticed that his friend was holding up his right hand, and thickly dropping from it was a brown mass which immediately gave off an ugly scent as the dutch athlete approached him.

"Oh, shit." Herman observed.

"Yup," Pat shook some of the thick excrement off in disgust. "that's what it is. Just my goddamn luck."

"Should be a house near here." Herman remarked. "You can vash dat off at a sink."

"Assuming it works." Pat noted.

Manuel, however, rested himself against the nearby tree. He had a thoughtful look in his eyes.

Pat frowned curiously. "You OK, Manny? You didn't get hit, did you?"

Manuel shook his head. "I saw Gina. She was gonna shoot Curahee."

"Emma's a soldier." Herman replied. "Or so she vants to be. She's got soldier instincts."

Pat had pulled a water bottle out of his Survival Pack, and he used it to do a quick wash job on his shit-stained hand. Herman had unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to Pat to use as a washcloth, revealing the white tank top undershirt that strained tightly against the dutchman's muscular physique.

"You sound like you're interested in Gina." Pat observed as he cleaned his hand off.

"I used to be, yeah." Manuel answered. "Freshman year. She was in my Math class. Even back then, she had that don't-fuck-with-me look in her eyes. I didn't care. Anytime she wasn't looking my way, I couldn't stop staring."

"Did you know she ran vith gangs?" Herman curiously asked.

"Oh yeah. Hell, she even had gang shit on her tats." Manuel responded. "I still thought she looked hot."

"Did she ever catch you staring?" Pat then asked.

Manuel nodded. "She came up to me after class one day. Walked right up in front of me and asked why I was always looking at her. I had to be honest. I told her I thought she looked nice. Couldn't help it. I thought she'd tell me to stop staring at her, but…she looked a little…surprised."

Tossing the wet, shit-stained shirt aside, an intrigued Pat stepped closer to Manuel. "Knowing her, I'm surprised she didn't just hit you."

"Or stab you." Herman added.

"Yeah, I thought the same thing. When she caught me staring, she looked pretty pissed." Manuel remarked. "Next day, she comes up to me after class, and she didn't look too angry. I kept my eyes off her that day, too. She tells me to follow her. At the time, I figured, hmm…she wants to talk? Was she really interested in me? I didn't know what to think because she didn't look angry."

"And she took you to the bathroom, right?" Pat guessed.

Manuel shook his head. "Stairs. She kept me talking right through the late bell. Asking me about the kinds of things I liked and stuff. She sounded real serious, too. It was like I really, somehow, got through to her. Then she stepped up real close, telling me I was so brave to cut a class just to be with her. Next thing I know, I'm grabbed from behind and slammed against a wall by Alejandro Espina, and he puts a switchblade to my neck while Gina steps back and just giggles over my reaction. That's when I got the hint, and that's when I stayed as far away from Gina as possible. Fucking bitch. I hope Emma shoots that _puta_ dead. I hope they say her name on one of those reports before it's my turn to die."

"Yeah, but…Alejandro's dead now." Pat noted.

"Pfft. She's not interested in a guy like me." Manuel dismissively remarked. "I don't even have tats."

"Den vhy did you react ven you saw her here?"

Manuel shrugged. "I dunno. Guess I'm just used to knowing that Gina's with Alejandro. That she'd never be with anyone else, y'know?"

Pat smiled. "What if you had the chance to kill her? What if you could sneak up on her, and shoot her in the head?"

Herman frowned to his fellow athlete. "Pat…"

A long, quiet moment passed as Manuel thought on these words. He couldn't come up with a straight and simple answer. Particularly after he had been reminded that Alejandro was now gone. He couldn't help but wonder if there was any truth to what Gina had said to him in the stairwell.

A glance to the skies gave him the excuse he needed to divert the issue. He started moving as he spoke. "We should get to the Workshop before it gets any darker."

Although his mind still lingered on how he would respond to the situation Pat had unexpectedly put before him, Manuel nevertheless began moving in a direction which his map confirmed would advance him and his friends closer to their desired locale.

He hoped, for one thing, that if it came to another confrontation between him and Gina, he would have a far more effective weapon in his hands.

Whether or not he would actually use it would be the real challenge.

* * *

From her high vantage point, and in a shrouded position which kept her from being noticed, Trudi Malone observed how the chase between Gina Salazar and Emma Curahee ended.

It almost looked as if Gina were a serpent of some kind, given her manner of moving around as the militant student with the smoking Uzi stalked the area. It seemed that the both of them were considering their options in that tense moment.

Neither girl, however, opted for a chance to shoot. There was no way Gina could get around Emma. The only thing she could do, or so it seemed to Trudi, was for the latino girl with the Glock to conceal herself behind a hardpoint, and wait for Emma to give up the chase.

A visible, but silent yawn from Emma hastened the inevitable decision on the army brat's part. Lowering her submachine gun, Emma retreated from the area, although she backtracked as she did so, no doubt concerned about being shot in the back.

Obviously, neither one cared to sacrifice their lives for a kill.

 _Dark siders, for sure._ Trudi thought to herself. _They'd both make great Sith Ladies._

She knew she was close enough, however, for Gina to hear if Trudi made any kind of loud noise, so she remained still as Gina moved away from the area with predatory steps, still remaining alert for anyone nearby.

Once Gina was gone, Trudi turned and began covering the remaining distance between her position, and the house she saw on the map. Conveniently located next to a Danger Zone, she figured it would help keep her safe.

Assuming, of course, that it wasn't already inhabited.

Trudi, however, was just as tired as Emma. She, too, let out a big yawn as the sounds of crickets began to thicken. She was practically dragging the plastic tube connected to the emitter of the crafted lightsaber prop behind her.

Conveniently illuminating this tube to provide a bit of its bright green light in the darkness around her, she reacted fearfully for the sound effect's very real possibility of attracting unwanted attention.

In the next moment, however, she would take a deep, relaxing breath, and remind herself about a Jedi's propensity for inner strength and control. Fear was a road to the Dark Side, and that was an ideal Trudi always sought to avoid.

She couldn't hear any sounds within the abandoned home as she drew nearer to it. The place looked relatively simple. Almost like a Trailer Park home. One visible level that stretched across in its long, rectangular shape, and a few windows along the sides. The single front door entrance seemed to be the only way in aside from any open windows. These windows were dark, indicating that there was no illumination within the house. If there were any light sources within the house, they had either not been activated, or they had been turned off.

Nervously tightening her grip on the lightsaber handle, Trudi attempted to open the front door.

Pushing the unlocked door slowly inward, lingering her free hand's grip on the doorknob, Trudi brought up the glowing, humming tube and advanced into the space within with the slowest and the most careful of steps. A very light creak emitted from the door's joints as it moved.

Trudi kept her steps as light as she could as she moved further into the house's interior. The opposite wall revealed a row of windows similar to those she had seen in her approach to the house.

The illumination from the light tube did not give her a great deal of light, but it was all she had for the moment. She expected her leg to hit a piece of furniture at some point, but that never happened. As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she could make out the presences of a kitchen area along one corner of the space, complete with a sink and a row of drawers and cabinets. Nearby, a table with four chairs idled.

As Trudi's eyes lingered on this table, a voice behind her broke the tense silence.

"Step into my parlour," the female voice mused. "said the spider to the fly."

Before Trudi could turn around, a very loud and vicious crack made the nervous Jedi aspirant gasp loudly as she jumped in place, her senses jarred by the unexpected, and very intimidating, snap.

Aside from her rattled senses, however, she remained unhurt. Quivering from the fright, she turned to face the house's resident occupant.

The bullwhip-wielding goth girl shined her flashlight beneath her chin, malevolently illuminating the face of Natalie Cross, who flashed a predatory, Cheshire Cat-like grin.

Trudi's eyes remained wide as she identified the other girl. "N…Natalie?"

She kept the flashlight beneath her chin as she slowly approached the very nervous-looking girl with the humming lightsaber toy. "What'cha got there, Miss Straight-A student? Miss…Honor Roll, was it?" She gestured to Trudi's lightsaber toy. "That your…'weapon'?"

"Yeah…" Trudi giggled a bit. "…pretty ironic, isn't it?"

 _*KRAK!*_

Once again, the vicious whiplash rattled Trudi's senses, who gasped aloud with the sudden snap.

"I'm not the biggest Star Wars fan, little girl." Natalie began a slow pace around her trembling visitor. "Not enough kink."

Trudi frowned in confusion. "Kink?"

"Sticks and stones may break my bones…but whips and chains _excite_ me!"

 _*KRAK!*_

A stinging pain seized Trudi's shoulder, and the honor student hollered a brief shriek as the shoulder cut inflicted by the whiplash began to bleed. She stared at the wound in shock as Natalie continued to circle around her scared guest.

"Lemme guess." Natalie remarked. "You were looking for a place to hide from the game."

Still wild-eyed with fear, and with her right hand clutching her shoulder wound, Trudi rapidly shook her head in denial. "No, no…I…I just wanted to find a place t-to sleep. Just…just one night. Just one. I won't be any trouble! Honest!"

 _*KRAK!*_

"OWW!" Trudi dropped to a knee once the whiplash sliced across her upper right thigh, just above the knee. Frowning angrily, the shaking honor student swung the humming saber tube in front of her, in a crescent arc.

 _*KRAK!*_

The wild strike attempt only earned her another whiplash to her other upper thigh, both wounds of which also began bleeding. The wounds stung terribly, but Trudi squinted her eyes shut, trying not to show any signs of her evident agony.

Natalie, however, dropped right down towards her, wrapping a length of the bullwhip's cord around Trudi's neck once, and then another length passed between the teeth of her open mouth and then pressed painfully against the corners of her lips, effectively gagging her as Natalie spoke near Trudi's right ear from behind her. She kept the constricting coils of the whip unpleasantly tight.

"I got here first, little girl." Natalie menacingly remarked. "That makes this _my_ place. If you wanna stay with me, you're gonna ask me properly, or I'll show you just how much I can hurt you with my own little weapon…and don't forget to say the magic word."

Although she maintained the coil tight around Trudi's neck, Natalie freed the frightened student's mouth so she could voice her plea.

"P-please?" Trudi quietly whined through her nervous panting. "May I…mmmmay I _please_ stay here? Just…for tonight?"

After what seemed like a long moment of consideration, Natalie spoke directly into Trudi's sweat-moistened ear. "Are you willing to pay the price? If you are, you can stay with me as long as you like."

A cold chill ran through Trudi. She figured that this 'price' was a more grave subtext. "Don't kill me. _Please_ don't kill me. I-I just wanna go home."

"Don't we all." Natalie countered. "But I'm not gonna kill you, Jedi girl. I promise."

Trudi relaxed a bit upon hearing this, feeling relieved.

"But…" Natalie ominously continued. "…that doesn't mean I'm not gonna hurt you, _slave._ "

The thick leather cord quickly went back between Trudi's teeth, and the shocked honor student moaned fearfully as Natalie dragged her guest towards a descending staircase in a darkened corner of the rectangular house.

Once they got to the stairs, Natalie roughly turned her squirming guest to face her. "STOP. Don't make me change my mind about killing you." She firmly remarked, pointing a finger to Trudi emphatically.

Although Trudi still looked very scared, she complied with Natalie's command, relaxing herself in spite of her current circumstances. Her body still quaked nervously, however.

"Good girl." A wicked grin was on Natalie's face as she spoke. "Now…get your ass downstairs."

Trudi figured that the house's basement was to be her sleeping area as she began her descent…

…but while she did see an area set up to serve as a bed, she also saw a length of bloodstained rope. Natalie dragged Trudi over to this rope. The blood on it still looked fresh.

The young dominatrix looked down on this rope mournfully as she spoke. "I found Carl Porter earlier today. He hung himself using this rope." Natalie paused a moment to swallow a lump in her throat. "He was one of my only real friends." After heaving a relaxing sigh, she turned her head to Trudi. "I meant what I said in the classroom, you know. I want those fucking assholes dead for what they're doing to us, but I can't do it alone. I need help. You wanna stay with me, you have to promise that you'll help me take them down. No bullshit."

Trudi became a little less tense now as she stared back at Natalie.

"So will you help me?" Natalie then asked.

As her visitor still had a length of Natalie's bullwhip across her mouth, effectively gagging her, Trudi nevertheless nodded her head.

Natalie nodded back. "Good."

Reaching down to grab the rope, she began binding Trudi's wrists behind her with the bloody rope. As Natalie had released her hold on the bullwhip, she managed to spit the whip away from her mouth. "Wh-what are you…what are you doing?" She fearfully asked.

As the rope was long enough, Natalie used the rope to bind Trudi's ankles together as well. She then pulled down Trudi's skirt, and her panties, to expose her bare rump. The honor student once again quaked with fright as Natalie retrieved her bullwhip.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Natalie positioned herself behind Trudi. "I need to break you in."

 _*KRAK!*_

Trudi's howls of pain could be heard outside of the residential area she shared with Natalie. The whiplashes only stopped long enough for the two of them to hear the final report of the day.

The whip cracks…and the screams that went with them…resumed afterwards.


	9. VIII: The Fourth Report

**VIII: The Fourth Report**

 _"What's wrong with killing? Everyone's got their reasons!"_

 _\- Mitsuko Souma, "Battle Royale"_

 **12:00 A.M.**

 _Cut it!  
_ _Soy un perdedor  
_ _I'm a loser, baby, so why don't you kill me?_

The lyrics to Beck's surprise hit song played through the loudspeakers all over the island, attracting everyone's attention, and interrupting all activity. When the chorus finished its repeat, the music faded, and the voice of Cassandra Emerson blared forth.

"If I'm playing a song as pathetic as that, you _know_ you're all in for a skimpy list of students who are no longer with us. _One_ person died since the last report. ONE!" Cassandra irritably began as she looked upon the single name on the death manifest. "Still…I'm sure Girl #12, Adele Nurmi, gave it her all when she tried to get that shotgun. Shame that she had to be on the receiving end of it…but hey, that's one less weirdo for this brave new world to deal with, right? I know she was in tight with some girl she called 'spooky', but as the French say? ' _C'est la vie_ ', freak."

Deidre Vandervelde, who had found another small and empty residence to inhabit, blankly stared forward as she sat in a seat, her arms hanging by her sides. She wasn't even paying attention to Cassandra's words, and she did not react at all to the mention of Adele's name during the report.

Cassandra glanced amusedly at Captain Curahee, who had a very unpleasant look on his face as he scowled at her. "Oh…there's one other little matter, shit-stains. A funny thing happened near Bivouac Post #3 earlier today. It seems that one of Captain Curahee's soldiers…a Private Bill Shanley…was killed when he stepped away to, uh, relieve himself. It was discovered that his…" She squinted at the standard weapons issue print on the page she now held in front of her. "…MP…5 Submachine Gun was missing. The Captain seems to think that one of you little bastards killed him for it. Well, as much as I'd like to commend the killer for his or her bravado, that stunt technically went against the rules. The next time I have to hear about another one of Curahee's leathernecks being taken out by any of you dumb fucks, I'm going to turn every residence, and every asset…including the Workshop…into Danger Zones. In fact…" She walked over to a console full of switches, gently placing her finger on one of them. "…I think I'll deprive you of one of those residences…riiiiight…now."

Cassandra flicked the switch, and the collars on the necks of Krystal Riley and Valerie Chung suddenly began beeping, rudely interrupting Krystal blow-drying her hair and Valerie's shower. Suitably shocked and alarmed, they frantically collected their nearby personal packs and their Survival Packs…and in Valerie's case, her clothing…before dashing out of the house as the beeping increased. They stopped to catch their breaths once their collars went quiet.

"SO!" Cassandra continued. "Speaking of Danger Zones, I'm ready to add a few more. At 1 a.m., Zone H-6, Zone A-7 at 3 a.m., and Zone D-6 at 5 a.m. Oh…and to prevent further violations of the rules that result in the deaths of Curahee's men, all Bivouac Posts have just become Danger Zones as well. So much for your grenade idea, _Herr_ Krieger."

" _Fick dich, schlampe!_ " Herman angrily screamed out to the nearest loudspeaker as he and his two friends continued to move through a forested area.

"In the words of Cardinal Richelieu, 'Treason is only a matter of dates'." Cassandra continued. "That goes for all you idiots who think a rebellion will get you all off of this island before the game is over. Everyone's got a dark side, losers, and they may even have an unspoken plan, too. Sooner or later, someone you thought you could trust…someone you would least expect to stab you in the back…is gonna fuck you all over real good. Remember that if you're stupid enough to actually try to get some sleep tonight. Have a good night, shit-stains!"

Captain Curahee kept his eyes on Cassandra through her entire report with the same, stone-faced expression. When she stepped away from the microphone, she turned to him while pulling a plastic vial filled with a white powder out of the breast pocket of her shirt.

She then grinned to the Black Ops commander as she held up the vial. "Want some candy, little boy?"

Curahee stepped right up to Cassandra, his expression a bit more unpleasant as he met her amused stare with one that wasn't amused at all. "Like the man said…" He then angled his face closer to hers. "… _fick dich, schlampe._ "

As he angrily walked back over to the monitoring consoles, Cassandra just shrugged, opening the vial as she turned away from him. "Your loss."

When Curahee turned his attention to the monitors full of numbers moving around on the island, he noticed that the blue #12 was approaching the building inhabited by the only number the Captain truly cared about: the pink #4.

Ordering the soldier working the console for a close-up of the Gymnasium sector, he kept his eyes on the numbers, obviously out of concern for his daughter.

The sound of Cassandra snorting up a line of her 'candy' wasn't enough to divert his attention.

* * *

Kevin Mintner…who had removed his undershirt to rip off a piece of fabric big enough to use as a crude eyepatch for his badly-wounded eye.…had already made sure that his fully-loaded shotgun was ready as he slowly closed in on the Gym area. He did hear activity within the large, single-level building, and he hoped to get the drop on whoever was inside.

He obviously hoped it was Gloria Angel. Getting revenge over her earlier attempt to kill him would feel pretty good, and he knew that for all of her bible-thumping, there was only one way she could maintain such an impressively trim figure.

Nearing the side wall of the Gymnasium, his right foot suddenly caught on what felt like a thin cord, and the sound of solid objects clattering around in glass jars broke the silence.

Kevin's eyes went wide with shock as his body froze. A tripwire!

He rushed towards one of the entrances to the gym, which was about ten feet away from where he was…but before he could get there, he saw Emma Curahee roll out of the doorway with an Uzi Submachine Gun in her hands.

The moment he acknowledged that it was her, Kevin began wildly running in the opposite direction. The sound of a gunfire burst, fired towards him, filled the evening air.

One of the shots buried itself into Kevin's right shoulder, and he screamed out in pain. Nevertheless, he kept running, never looking behind him. He needed to get some distance on Emma, and fast!

Reaching a corner of the building, he began to run around it…

…only to see Emma crash through one of the side windows. She had dashed through the gym itself in an attempt to cut him off! Stopping in his tracks, Kevin retreated in the opposite direction as fast as he could, this time frantically moving away from the gym building. Another burst of Uzi rounds rang out behind him, but the shots went wild.

Emma figured he was still within range for a kill, and she squeezed the trigger again…

…but the weapon was dead silent this time. Only the click of the trigger being pulled could be heard as the Uzi's hot barrel emitted smoke. She was empty!

In that moment, she feared that Kevin heard this click, and would turn and fire his own weapon. Fortunately, he kept frantically running.

But she knew, in the very next moment, that he was doomed anyway upon glancing at the laminated and marked map around her neck, as she turned away with a wry smile on her face and re-entered the gym to continue her evening calisthenics, brushing off bits of glass from her outfit as she did so. She also pulled the empty clip out of her Submachine Gun and tossed it to the ground.

Although Kevin continued to run, he quickly found a reason to run even faster, desperately trying to ignore the terrible pain in his right shoulder as he did so.

His eyes boggled as the beeping at his throat continued. In his attempt to flee from Emma, he had entered a Danger Zone!

He had no time to look at anything. He just figured that he would run as fast as he possibly could to get to the opposite end of the Danger Zone. This would be a bad, and an admittedly embarrassing, way for him to die.

The beeping increased in its frequency, reaching a rapid crescendo. Out of desperation, Kevin made a sharp right turn in his straight path, hoping he was near one edge of the zone.

The frequency of the beeps sounded like it was near its zenith. The moment in which his collar bomb would detonate had to be mere seconds away. He squeezed his one good eye shut as he attempted one final burst of speed. His sweat-soaked head throbbed terribly from the pain at his shoulder…

…and then, the collar went silent.

Such was his speed that he was unable to slow down and come to a stop. He stumbled right onto the soil, and violently rolled around for a bit until he finally collided with a tree, bringing his mad and painful dash to an equally painful end.

Kevin just laid there, in a crumpled heap. With all the pain mercilessly wracking his body in that moment, he finally passed out.

But he was still alive.

In the moment before he lapsed into unconsciousness, however, he wished he was dead.

* * *

Issac Meyer heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing the silhouette approaching the workshop reveal itself to be a very sullen-looking Hamid Ranganathan. He did have something in one of his hands as he came closer to the shop, but it didn't look like any kind of a gun.

Issac turned around and raised a hand, signaling to the people behind him. "All clear! Come on out! He's a friend!"

Violet Noda was nearest as she stepped out of her hardpoint, still brandishing her MAC-10. "You can't always assume that, you know."

Issac gestured to Hamid. "I can with him, Miss Noda." He then stepped towards his Indian friend, smiling. "I was wondering where you were, Mister Ranganathan."

Hamid, who looked a bit crestfallen, managed a slight smile as his free hand grabbed Issac's to accept his handshake. "'Ey, boss."

Once he was illuminated by the workshop lights, Issac noted all of the blood on the young, wide-eyed student's clothes. Issac's expression became one of concern. "That isn't _your_ blood, is it?"

Hamid shook his head, his expression going serious. "I…had to do it." He then muttered.

Confused, Issac's gaze went to the object in Hamid's other hand, which was covered in dried blood.

Violet also saw this, and she stepped closer to Hamid in morbid curiosity. "Who did you kill?"

"Probably Vinny Willits." Peter Ellis guessed as he walked over to join the group. "He's been bullying Hamid since he first laid eyes on him."

The smile on Hamid's face was gone, and an expression of regret replaced it as his eyes fixed on Issac's. "I did not want to do it. He…he wanted me to eat his s-spike things! I did not want to kill him!" His eyes began to water as he continued his regretful words. "Why did he want to kill me? I did not do _anything_ to him, y'know? _Nothing!_ "

Issac wrapped his arms around the distraught young man as he began to sob. Violet's eyes went to the object in Hamid's full hand, which looked like the handle of a switchblade. Hamid was not gripping it, however, in a manner indicating that he was going to use it during the embrace.

"Relax, Mister Ranganathan." Issac assured. "You're among friends now. Just calm down."

"You shouldn't be shedding tears over that racist pig, Hamid." Peter gently chided. "As far as I'm concerned, you did society a favor."

"I didn't like him either." Violet added. "Always called me a 'jap'. 'Pearl Harbor'…'kamikaze'…I'm _glad_ that asshole is dead."

"With me, it was always 'jew', 'jewboy', or 'hebe'." Issac noted to Violet, turning his attention back to Hamid as he released his friend from the embrace. "So don't feel so bad."

This did little to ease Hamid's conundrum as he wiped away a tear. "Why do they want us to kill each other?"

Issac shrugged. "That's what happens when you have a President as bad as Anderson Grant. He picks out the best possible yes-men, and they justify his warped view of how he feels the world should be."

"Maybe next week, he'll make up a new holiday where all crime is legal." Peter mused.

"Heh…purge your sins." Issac mused back. "Fuck that shit."

Hamid took a deep, relaxing breath, and then finished wiping his tears away before placing a hand on Issac's shoulder. "How you holding out, boss? Good to see you not alone."

"They're the _reason_ I'm holding out, Mister Ranganathan." Issac replied. "I figure if it were a class full of Freshmen, we wouldn't make it past day one."

Peter's voice interrupted the conversation as he noticed movement outside of the workshop's vicinity. "Incoming!"

Weapons went up, pointing in the direction Peter indicated. Hamid brought up his switchblade handle and pressed its button, the click heralding the appearance of the dried blood-stained blade.

Three young men, two of them well-built, emerged from the darkness outside of the workshop with their hands raised. They approached slowly, and all three of them looked very tired.

Issac recognized the less well-built one. "Ah, Mister Ortiz." As the trio stepped closer, the bespectacled student recognized one of the two well-built students. "Mister…Krieger, is it?"

" _Ja._ "

Patrick Dane's eyes were on Issac's gun as he lowered it. "Nice piece. Sure beats my Paper Airplane."

"And my binoculars." Manuel added.

Peter looked to Herman. "What about you? What did you get?"

"Grenades." Herman answered. "Two of them."

This raised an eyebrow on the face of Issac Meyer. He wasn't alone in his sudden interest. "Do you still have those two grenades, Mister Krieger?"

Herman nodded. "As you might have heard, I vas going to use vun against dat guard post."

Issac shook his head. "That would have been wasteful. A weapon like that is more of a last-resort kind of thing."

"And you got a paper airplane?" Violet asked Pat.

Dane nodded. "If it wasn't for Manny, though, I would have thrown it away…" He then rummaged through his pack and pulled out the Assault Rifle blueprint, which still had the crease marks on it. "…and we wouldn't have this."

Peter stepped forward to take a closer look at the paper, which he gently pulled out of Patrick Dane's fingers and placed on a nearby table. "Ooooh…the blueprint for that battle maid weapon the video mentioned. Pretty sneaky of them to disguise it as a paper airplane."

"My sentiments exactly." Issac responded. "We should hold on to this until we have all of the parts."

A machine in the workshop caught Manuel's attention as the others began to chat idly. "Is that a grinder?"

As Peter Ellis was nearby, this diverted him. "Yeah. Why? You need it?"

Manuel remembered hearing the grinding noise, and the scream, but there was no blood anywhere on, or around the vicinity of, the machine. "Didn't you use this to kill someone earlier?"

Peter shook his head. "That was a ruse. Mike Zimmer got a pot lid for his weapon. Ron used it to sharpen its edges."

"Ah, OK." Manuel kept his eyes on the grinder. A thought occurred to him, but skepticism won out. "Don't suppose you could do the same with a pair of binoculars, eh?"

Peter shrugged. "Maybe if you removed the lenses...but if you ask me, you should hold on to them. You never know when we might need to spot 'em from a distance."

Manuel just nodded. "So what were you guys up to?"

"We were actually setting up a watch for the night when Hamid…and then you guys…came by." Peter answered. "So if you wanna get some rest, we'll keep you safe."

Manuel nodded again, but felt a telltale need at his bladder. "Sounds good…but I gotta go pee. I don't suppose this place has a bathroom?"

Peter shook his head. "Don't go pissing around here, though. Use a tree. Don't stray too far, though."

Manuel raised a thumb in acknowledgement. "Gotcha. Be right back."

"You need me to take a watch, boss?" Hamid asked.

Issac shook his head. "I'd rather we have people with guns do that. I'm on first watch, then I'll switch with Miss Noda."

"Mike and Malcolm are still out there." Peter reminded. "Keep an eye out for them."

"If they're still alive." Violet warily added.

"If they are, and they have Mister Nanahara with them when they return..." Issac turned his eyes to Violet. "…don't shoot him."

Violet just stared back at him. Her response went unspoken. _No promises._

* * *

Shuya Nanahara kept running as fast as he could along the grasslands in his attempt to flee the pair of black-garbed soldiers behind him, both of them armed with MP5 Submachine Guns.

Inevitably, however, he tripped upon an obstacle, and began to fall to the ground.

As a trained guerilla fighter, however, his senses were sharp. As he dropped down, he spinned his body around to level his Machine Pistol behind him and squeeze off a few rounds toward his pursuers. The gun still erupted its violent cacophony even as he hit the soil…

…and the two soldiers, their bodies filled with bloody bullet holes, dropped lifelessly to the ground.

Shuya kept squeezing the trigger, but clicks were all that resulted. The gun was empty.

Despite his evident exhaustion, Shuya rose up and walked cautiously over to the dead soldiers. Their figures hardly looked soldier-like upon closer inspection.

They looked contrarily feminine, in fact. Adolescent.

Morbidly curious, Shuya knelt next to one of the soldiers, and then reached down to pull off the balaclava and the black goggles that she was wearing.

The chilling death stare that met his eyes was that of Yukiko Kitano, a young girl from his BR program who had a crush on Shuya, whose eyes were now wide with horror.

His eyes went to the other soldier, and he was quick to pull off her mask as well. Staring back at him with a more accusing death stare was Yukie Utsumi.

He knew that she, too, had a crush on him.

Slowly rising back up, he heard a twig loudly snap behind him.

Spinning around in his alarm, he stared into the black barrel of an Uzi Submachine Gun being held by a young man with a head of short, wild orange hair. He was wearing the exact same outfit Shuya was wearing.

He was not only supposed to be blind, but dead as well.

Nevertheless, Kazuo Kiriyama…the silent psychopath who murdered many of his classmates during the Shiroiwa Battle Royale…pressed the barrel of his weapon to Shuya's forehead, and flashed a sick grin. Behind him, the sounds of seagulls could be heard as they glided around a tall lighthouse.

Still grinning, the demented creature in front of Shuya then graciously motioned for him to proceed towards a familiar-looking lighthouse, which was a place where a group of girls providing him with shelter during his BR program went from best friends to a pile of corpses for reasons Shuya was never able to figure out.

Among those girls was Yukie Utsumi.

As much as he had wanted to keep from going in, Kazuo was behind him, dancing like a fool as he steadied his gun towards Shuya's back. Nanahara's steps were hesitantly slow as he closed the distance between him and the lighthouse's front door.

As Shuya got close, the door opened. Yuko Sakaki…the only survivor of the lighthouse massacre who subsequently committed suicide…just stared at him, accusingly, as he passed her.

She then softly spoke a single word once he was past the doorway where she lingered. " _Akuma._ "

Kazuo kept Shuya moving to yet another door within the lighthouse, this one by a stairwell. He stopped in front of it, not wanting to open the metal door frame.

Kazuo pressed the barrel of his Uzi painfully against the back of Shuya's head. It was clear what the sick bastard behind him wanted Shuya to do.

Left with no real choice, he reached for the doorknob.

The room within was illuminated. It was also a bloody mess, with spent bullet casings littering the floor, and only an intact table and chairs within.

But there were no bodies lying anywhere.

The moment Shuya stepped in, however, he was suddenly seized from both sides by a small group of screaming girls who began dragging him towards the table. They then forced him into a seat.

As two of the girls…Yuka Nakagawa and Haruka Tanizawa…held Shuya at gunpoint where he sat, Matsui Chisato stepped over to the room's kitchen burner and began pouring a plate of noodles from a boiling pot onto a dish.

All of the girls still had their requisite bullet wounds, and they were still bleeding from them.

As Yuka had been unintentionally poisoned by a meal that was tainted with potassium cyanide, her mouth was still bleeding profusely as she held her gun out at him. Only Kazuo Kiriyama, who had danced over to the pot of noodles and was sniffing at its steaming content, was free of injuries. It was as if he could be blamed for reanimating the bullet-riddled bodies of the lighthouse girls.

Chisato also flashed a sick grin as she brought the plate of noodles over to where Shuya sat, placing the plate in front of him. On the table was a single salt-shaker, but the label on this shaker read _KCN Poison_.

The very same potassium cyanide that killed Yuka Nakagawa.

Flanking the table, opposite from where Shuya was sitting, were Kazuo Kiriyama on one side...who had stopped dancing, and who was now holding his Uzi towards Shuya…and on the other was the bespectacled Satomi Noda, who held her own submachine gun towards the seated, writhing student, who still could not wrest herself free from the iron grip of the girls who held him fast.

A wide-eyed Chisato was now shaking the KCN powder into the plate's content. "Let's give it a little flavor!" She cheerfully remarked.

"You need your strength, _akuma_." Satomi added. " _Taberu!_ "

The girls holding him to the chair began to mercilessly chant. " _Taberu…taberu…taberu…taberu…_ "

Chisato chimed in as well, grabbing a fork that was at the side of the plate. " _Taberu…taberu…taberu…taberu..._ "

Kazuo was dancing wildly once again, this time to the rhythm of the chant, as Chisato filled a fork with the tainted noodles. Shuya's collar began beeping along with the rhythm as the fork neared his quivering mouth. He tried to press his lips shut, but he couldn't!

The repeated word was making his stomach growl in protest. He was very hungry now, and he loved noodles. But these were poisoned!

All Shuya could do was scream out his protest…

* * *

Shuya bolted upright from his impromptu nap, his eyes boggling as he scanned the area.

Thankfully, it was quiet in that moment, aside from the crickets sounding off their evening cacophany. His senses eased a little as he heaved out a deep, relaxing breath. Looking down at his jacket, he considered taking it off, seeing as how it looked exactly the same as the one Kiriyama was wearing during his BR program.

He chose, however, to keep it on. There was a bit of a chill to the evening air on the island, anyway.

Shuya's stomach growled in his evident hunger as an evening breeze cascaded against him. He pulled out his Machine Pistol to review how many rounds he had left. The only time he had actually used it was when he was dealing with the group of girls shortly after the BR-USA program began, so he still had plenty of rounds, and unused clips, to defend himself with.

The sounds of footsteps, however, brought the gun up in the direction of these sounds, and american voices hissed in apparent protest of this. A silhouette could then be seen ahead of him. A young male figure, with his hands raised high.

He recognized this person, when he stepped into the light, to be the american student whose life he had spared.

"Uhh…konga wa." Mike Zimmer nervously began.

Shuya obviously frowned in his confusion. He then smirked when he realized what Mike was trying to say.

The guerilla fighter spoke slowly in his effort to teach his new friend once again. " _Konban wa._ "

Mike still had his hands raised. He smiled meekly over the correction. " _Konban wa._ " He repeated.

Two other people joined Mike at this point, also with their hands raised. One was a dark-skinned young man wearing glasses, and the other had a helmet with a black optical device attached to it. Beneath the belt of the black man was what looked like an Icepick.

Mike gestured to Malcolm Derricks and Vladis Jellinek. "These are…friends." He tried raising a thumb, hoping Shuya would understand. "Friends. Good." He then motioned for Shuya to lower his weapon, shaking his head. "No shoot."

After a long moment that made both Malcolm and Vladis a little more nervous, Shuya slowly lowered his gun.

Mike gestured to the black man. "Malcolm."

The bespectacled student nodded once. "S'up."

Mike then indicated the young man in the helmet. "Vladis."

" _Zdravstvuyte_." The young Russian remarked, giving Shuya a polite wave.

Shuya responded by gesturing for Vladis to approach. The russian's steps were understandably hesitant as he complied, and Malcolm's hand cautiously went to the handle of the icepick.

Once Vladis was close enough, Shuya quickly snatched the helmet and pulled it off, taking a moment to sample its night optics, through which Vladis could be seen as a large white human shape against a green background. After confirming the nature of the optics, he pulled the helmet off of his head and tossed it back to Vladis, who in his nervousness fumbled the helmet around following his haphazard catch.

"Damn…we shoulda brought Violet with us." Malcolm observed.

"He knows a little English." Mike protested. "I heard him say three words. 'I…help…you'."

In his amusement, Shuya decided to mess with his visitors a little, speaking in his native tongue. "It was pretty brave of you to watch over me as I slept. If you did not have him…" he gestured to Michael. "…with you, I would have thought that you would want to kill me."

Malcolm and Vladis just stared at Shuya dumbly. Malcolm glanced to Mike, who just shrugged in his own confusion.

Another smirk was on Shuya's mouth. He obviously opted for gesturing. This time, he gestured to the trio, and then mimed a 'sleep', putting his hands together and resting the side of his head against them.

Fortunately, Malcolm caught on. "Uhh…yeah, yeah." He nodded his head. "Tired. Sleep. Sleep good."

Shuya brought up his gun, and then poised two fingers to his eyes. He then gestured in indication that he would watch over them.

Vladis and Mike nodded in understanding. Malcolm, however, gestured in response, repeating the sleep gesture, and then pointing at Shuya, wondering if he himself needed rest.

Shuya, however, shook his head. He then gestured to the soil beneath them, obviously letting them use the ground as their beds.

As the trio of young american boys positioned themselves upon the ground, using their Survival Packs for makeshift pillows, Shuya sat upon a large, fallen log and began his watch. As he did, he began humming a tune, tapping a rhythm out on his upper thigh as he did.

Prior to his lapse into temporary unconsciousness, Mike Zimmer…being a Bruce Springsteen fan…recognized the tune to be _Cover Me_ , from _Born In The U.S.A._

* * *

Although he was still moving, Manuel Ortiz was fear-stricken. She was on him as he was emptying his bladder near a tree. She had the Glock right up against his head, quietly extracting Manuel unnoticed and moving him further and further from the Workshop. He had been quietly told to remain silent as he moved, which would keep Gina Salazar from blowing his brains out.

What struck him as curious, however, was that he was still alive in the first place. Gina could have just executed him on the spot, even if it would give away her position. Unless Gina preferred a more private kind of execution…

Gina had also kept him from pulling his pants back up, so they were at his ankles, along with his white boxer underpants. They continued distancing themselves from the Workshop, neither person speaking a single word. Only the sound of Manuel's nervous and shaky breathing could be heard.

"Stop." Gina finally commanded.

The tattooed latino girl had chosen a grassy plain near a group of rocks, one of them with a long, flat surface, to be the area where Gina would presumably kill her captive. Manuel wondered if any of the actively-hunting students would interrupt the moment. Either way, it was apparently game over for him.

Or so he believed.

He figured Gina would let Manuel say a few last words, and he was prepared to admit his secret crush on her, even if it didn't have any chance of saving his life.

Gina, however, stepped in front of him. She still kept the Glock pointed at his head.

"I got you dead-bang, _pendejo_." Gina mused. "What kinda weapon you got?"

"B-Binoc-culars." Manuel answered. " _Prismaticos_."

Gina's mouth blossomed to a highly amused grin. "You fuckin' _kiddin'_ me, meng."

Manuel rapidly shook his head.

Her eyes went to her Survival Pack. "Open ya mouth."

Once he did, the barrel of the Glock went right between his teeth as the Cuban student found the zipper on Manuel's pack and pulled it open. Rummaging her free hand through it, she finally found the small pair of binoculars inside.

Upon making the confirmation, Gina released the 'weapon', and slowly pulled the gun out of Manny's mouth. She then took a single step back, keeping her Glock on the terrified student.

She noticed that his eyes had drifted down. He was no longer making eye-contact. A frown was now on her face. "Wha'chu lookin' at, meng?" She angrily asked.

Manuel's mouth was going dry from his nervous panting. He swallowed hard before answering. "Ink. I…I-I like…I like your ink."

"Ink? What da fu…oh, my _tats_." Gina suddenly realized what he meant. "Ju like my tats, eh? Which one your favorite?"

Manuel had always marveled over how realistic the tattoos Gina wore looked. The attention to detail was astounding for a black-ink image on her skin. There were two standouts, however, from what he had seen on Gina's skin before the dress code was instituted in the wake of the demonstration that became a massacre. "Uhh…th-the horse. The horse's head."

Gina knew which one he was referring to. It was the image of the right side of a horse's head. She reached over to pull up a sleeve, while keeping the gun on Manuel, and exposed as much of the indicated tattoo as possible. "Da's a stallion. That's a horse dat still has his dick. I name dis one after _mi novio_ Alejandro. He was de only one whose dick I want in me, an' he was a _good_ fuck."

Manuel nodded nervously. "I'm sorry. I…I know you two were close."

"We were like _dis_." She brought up her free hand again, crossing her index finger over her middle finger. "When I foun' him, he had _arrows_ in him." The gun went up again, pointing right at his temple. "Ju know anyone who got a bow an' arrows?"

Manuel shook his head. "No, I…I didn't see anyone."

"Ju tell me if you did…" Gina threateningly clicked the hammer back on her Glock. "… _si?_ "

"Yes! Yes! _Si!_ I'd tell you!" Manuel rapidly nodded his head, his eyes wide.

"Good girl." Gina switched gun hands and then exposed the tattoo on the other shoulder. It was a youthful-looking male face. The shoulders were emulated just as well as the face. The face bore a slight resemblance to Alejandro. "Know who dat is?"

"Your brother?"

"I don't have a brother, _marica_ …" Gina irritably replied. "…but Alejandro did. Da's Javier. He was one of de 56 who got shot an' killed. Javier was…he was like you. Bookworm. Model student. Always playin' by de rules. Javier was a good kid, even though they never got along. Now he's dead…" Gina's eyes began to well up with tears. "…jus' like _mi novio_."

Manuel looked entirely sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Gina."

His sympathy was answered by a completely unexpected right hook which solidly connected, and sent him to the ground. Gina furiously pointed the gun down at him. "You jus' sayin' dat to _get my pants off, pervertido!_ "

Manuel shook his head rapidly and fearfully, keeping his head down and his hands raised as he rose to his knees. "No! No! I swear! I really am sorry! I-I really do feel bad!"

Gina had the barrel pressed to his head now, but she hesitated, hearing the genuine fear in his voice. "Yeah?"

"Yes! _Si!_ " Manuel whined. " _No es para sexo! Realmente siento simpatia!_ "

After a long moment of silence, Gina once again spoke angrily. "Keep your fuckin' head down."

Complying, Manuel heard the sound of fabric slipping against skin as he stared down at the soil beneath him. It did seem like she was removing clothes…but why, he wondered?

Articles of fabric dropped in front of him, but such was his fear of being killed that he just kept staring down. Droplets of sweat fell to the soil from his forehead as he fearfully awaited further instructions.

"Right." Gina then remarked. "Stay on your knees…but bring your head up, an' look at my back."

When Manuel did as he was asked, he saw that Gina had angled her head down towards him, although she was now otherwise facing away from him. He confirmed that she did indeed remove not only her blouse, but her bra as well.

The ink on her back, however, was particularly impressive. Side views of two nickel-plated automatic pistols, both pointed upwards with their bridges lined up against one another, were prominent in front of a tattoo emulation of a Cuban flag waving in the wind. On the handles of each gun was a single, bloodshot human eye. Above this image, in a stylish font, were three words: LOCO 'TIL DEATH.

"Da's a gang sign." Gina noted. "Alejandro an' I were with _Los Locos_. Real badasses. Ain't nobody fuck with a Loco." Gina turned back around to face Manuel, giving the cowering student a good view of her bare, well-toned breasts, which were similarly decorated with tattoos. "We'd still be with them if it wasn't for Culo tryin' to mug Javier one night. Culo wanted to be de big man in de gang. Alejandro _was_ de big man, but Culo couldn't beat him in a fair fight. When _mi novio_ find out w'happen to Javier, he shank Culo up real good, an' since Javier didn't wanna live where we use to be, that's when we move to New York. He did dat as a favor to his brother. No matter what de gang think of him leaving? He was _always_ a Loco. Even after we left."

As much as Manuel wanted to resist the urge, his eyes were now on another tattoo. This one decorated Gina's left breast. It was an open-mouthed skull with an excellent black-ink rendering of the Cuban flag on its forehead. At the center of the skull's open mouth was Gina's breast nipple.

Gina now looked amused, and a hint of a smile was now on her lips. "Which one ju starin' at now, meng?" She tapped the Glock at her right breast, which was decorated with the tattoo of a _peso_ coin. The engraved image in the center, however, was replaced by Gina's nipple. "This one…" She then tapped the left breast image with the skull. "…or _this_ one?"

Lowering to her knees in front of Manuel, she positioned the Glock beneath Manuel's chin, and then brought her lips near Manny's ear. "Ju wanna be in _my_ gang, _marica?_ "

Manuel now looked confused. He swallowed hard before answering. "Y-you have…you have a gang?"

"No…but I start one right now." Gina replied. "Dis skull tat? _I_ did dat one. Tattoo artist with _Los Locos_ taught me how to do it…an' if you help me get off dis island, I can give you de same one."

Manuel, however, knew enough about gang culture to know that there was a catch to actually joining one. "What would I…what would I need to...to do?"

Gina smirked now as she stepped away, still keeping the gun pointed at Manuel. "Ju gotta take someone out for me. I tried to cap dat big fat _cerdo_ in de back, but she musta been wearin' a fuckin' vest. I shoulda capped her in de head. Ju wanna join my gang? Ju gotta take dat fat bitch out."

As he knew that there was only one visibly large girl still alive, he deduced that Gina was referring to Margaret Turmell, who was a much nicer girl compared to students like Aduke VelJohnson and Letitia Yeardley, who he would have been more willing to take out. "You…yyyou want me t…to _kill_ her?"

"Naw! I want you ta buy her a pretty pony! What de fuck ju _think_ I meant, _marica?_ "

"How?" Manuel protested. "I don't have a gun! Unless you can let me borrow yours?"

"Man, _fuck_ you. I ain't givin' you my gat, _estupido!_ " Gina irritably responded. "I don't care _how_ you do it. Jus' fuckin' _do_ it! An' get dat fuckin' vest offa her while you're at it! Ju got 'til _tomorrow night_ to do it, _empollon_."

Manuel's head drooped. If it were someone nobody liked, or Manny didn't like, there would be no problem. This was a frequently bullied girl, however, that Gina was asking him to murder.

Rationale, however, set in as well. Everyone was playing the same terrible game, and the idea was to kill each other off. His only real hope was that someone would come up with a means to escape the island alive. Somehow. But options were growing thin, particularly with the Bivouac Posts becoming permanent Danger Zones. If he could take Margaret out without her noticing…perhaps kill her in her sleep without anyone knowing…

The words of his Cuban mother set in, however, in that long and quiet moment. Spoken to him shortly after they moved to the United States a few years ago, and after an occasion where he himself had been bullied. He talked about wanting the bullies to die for the way they had hurt him.

 _Killing a person is the worst thing in the world, Manny._ He remembered her saying. _If you bring death to someone, you will be marked. Your soul will be stained for life. You will be locked in a vicious circle which will only end with your own death. Promise me you will never, ever kill._

He remembered his response. He remembered being hesitant in giving his response, but he did utter the words. _I promise, mama._

When he brought his head back up to voice another conundrum relating to his indecision, however, Gina was gone. Looking around, she was nowhere to be seen. She had just vanished.

Finally rising back to his feet, he decided to return to the Workshop. Gina's words lingered on his mind as he drifted back. He didn't want to kill Margaret Turmell. His only hope was that between now and the next few reports, either Gina or Margaret would turn up on the next day's death manifests.

It also occurred to Manny, as he walked, that this was someone he grew to dislike since she obviously had Alejandro scare him away during the staircase encounter. Why was he doing this to begin with, he thought? Trying to impress a girl who obviously still carries a torch for a dead man?

Rationale set in on that conundrum as well. If Gina truly didn't have some kind of interest in Manny, she would have just killed him as he was peeing. She had him at point-blank range, but she never actually pulled the trigger. Perhaps she had a need for a companion? Alejandro just happened to be her perfect match, and now that he was gone, she was choosing another one? Manny did seem to notice a flicker of interest in those eyes when they had first met…

…but even as he considered his rekindled infatuation for Gina, there was also the killing method. Even if he did feel inclined to betray his mother's promise...more out of necessity than want, as he was being forced to play this twisted, live deathmatch along with the rest of his surviving classmates…all he had was a pair of binoculars, which were not even sturdy enough to beat someone to death.

He was then reminded of Peter Ellis's words as he came within sight of the Workshop. He had been talking, earlier, about using the grinder to turn Mike Zimmer's pot lid into a more lethal cutting weapon. Once the words came to him, they lingered on his mind.

 _Maybe if you removed the lenses…_

* * *

Of all of the soldiers in Captain Curahee's Black Ops unit, one of the men was a particularly pious sort. He was among the soldiers that was present in the classroom during the pre-game briefing, watching silently as the condemned students were given their marching orders for the next three days.

Sergeant Reggie Kingston, however, had built a curiosity around Girl #1. The one called Gloria Angel.

He particularly appreciated how Gloria had offered a blessing to the entire class before she left. She was a very pretty girl, as well. God had truly gifted this woman with considerable comeliness in his eyes.

Kingston was good at concealment, and making sure he went unnoticed. Although the recent standing order from his superior officer…Captain Curahee…was to remain within close vicinity of the Bivouac Posts, Reggie secretly violated this order upon ascertaining the location of Girl #1.

As he was a praying man, it was not love, nor lust, in his developing interest in Gloria, but to provide an offering for her, despite the Captain's inclinations in wanting his own daughter to win the BR-USA program. None of the soldiers, after all, knew what kinds of weapons these kids had received in their packs. For all Reggie knew, Gloria received the Paper Airplane that was rumored to be inside one of those Survival Packs.

He knew Gloria needed to be much more lethal than that, and this is why he had decided to gift Gloria accordingly.

As he quietly approached the area where the stationary, pink #1 signal was located, he found that Gloria had chosen to take a nap near a large rock. She was fast asleep when Reggie spotted her.

His footsteps were as silent as possible as the masked, black-garbed soldier pulled his offering out of the holster at his hip. He extracted six magazines for the weapon as well, and quietly laid them near where Gloria was sleeping.

Although he had wanted to just slip away undetected, his gaze lingered upon Gloria, instead, for a long moment.

He had to resist the urge to remove his mask, and press his lips to her pale forehead in blessing. The young girl truly had an angelic appearance in his eyes. No matter what Captain Curahee wanted, Reggie hoped that this living, breathing angel would make good use of his generous offering.

He even hoped she would be able to kill the Captain's daughter with it.

He motioned in the shape of a crucifix, effectively giving her a silent blessing, before retreating from the sleeping blonde and beginning the journey back to his post, secure in his own rationale that the sacrifice of his 9mm automatic pistol sidearm would not make him any less lethal as a soldier.

After all…unlike the late Private Bill Shanley…he still had his fully-loaded MP5.

* * *

Before the Black Ops soldier could come into contact with the Captain's shoulder, Curahee's eyes flew open.

"You had wanted me to wake you once Mrs. Emerson was asleep, sir?" The masked soldier quietly noted.

"Yes, Private." Curahee wearily responded as he maneuvered himself to the side of the cot he was napping on. "Thank you."

Starting with the main monitoring area, the Captain began his search for the sleeping educator whose habit reminded him too much of how his younger son ended up. He had quite cleverly concealed his own fixation on crack cocaine before the overdose which claimed his life, and manifested the grief-stricken Black Ops soldier's total reluctance to work with anyone who had a drug habit.

He didn't care what it was that Cassandra was snorting. Crack cocaine, typical cocaine, heroin…he wanted it gone. He did not want to be reminded about his son's horrible fate any further. Every time he laid eyes on so much as a gram of the stuff, he would see the face of his dead son when he discovered the body in his room on that terrible Monday morning following a loud and vicious shouting match regarding his son's deteriorating school grades.

Curahee figured that the woman was unarmed, so he didn't bother to grab his sidearm. He was confident enough in his own fighting abilities that he could easily overpower her, and take matters into his own hands.

Even if it meant killing her.

The rationale was clear as he went into the only darkened classroom in the school that had a door which was left slightly ajar. This was for Cassandra Emerson's own good.

Sure enough, the woman herself had pushed two desks together, and was laying face down across them. She looked fast asleep, using what looked like bundled, folded clothing for a pillow. Her arms hung down to the tiled floor, giving Curahee the impression that she had perhaps passed out from her drug-induced high.

Although her head rested on the side facing where Curahee was, he was convinced that her eyes were fully closed.

Nearest to where the Captain was was the teacher's larger desk, upon which was the object of the Captain's extreme, overriding hatred: drug paraphernalia. A piece of purple construction paper showed evidence of white powder upon it, possibly poured into straight lines which were no doubt snorted through Cassandra's nostrils. A small straw resting on this piece of construction paper was in further evidence of this.

The vial of powder was also there as well, although it had been re-capped.

Glancing to Cassandra's sleeping form one minute, and then back to the drugs on the desk the next, the Captain opted to approach the drugs first, seeing as how he hated it far more than any given person using it.

A sudden crash and tumble of desks over where Emerson was sleeping sent Curahee's eyes back over to Cassandra, who quickly rose to her feet with a loaded pistol in her hand. Her eyes were wide with fury as she leveled the gun at the Captain's head.

"I _knew_ you'd come in here and try to fuck with my candy." Cassandra angrily intoned as she pulled the hammer back on the revolver she held. "Now get the _hell_ away from that desk, or you'll find out how well I do when I'm at the shooting range!"

Cassandra had her gun perfectly leveled at his head. He knew she could kill him if he provoked her any further. All he could do was hatefully stare back at her.

And slowly backtrack out of the classroom with his hands raised.

" _CLOSE THE DOOR BEHIND YOU!_ " She then roared.

They continued to linger their hateful stares at each other, and Cassandra continued to point the gun at him, through the door's single window for another long and tense moment before Captain Curahee ultimately abandoned his attempt at an intervention.

Although he eventually turned away from the window, the Captain knew that this would not be the last time he confronted her about the habit which ultimately destroyed his only son.

* * *

The machete loudly clanged against the remnants of a broken steel beam as Margaret Turmell dodged the third swing of Lorenzo Trujillo's weapon, a Combat Machete. The previous swing very nearly cleaved her head right off.

Lorenzo had thought she would be an easy kill, given her obesity. He didn't expect that she would be able to catch him sneaking up on her from behind, but after the attempt on her life by Gina Salazar, Margaret's senses were a little more prominent now. It was by virtue of her peripheral vision that she was able to catch Lorenzo closing in.

Having been bullied in her younger years, and often in a manner resulting in her needing to physically defend herself, Margaret attempted a tactic which she figured was a long shot. She figured he would duck his head, or quickly turn it away, to capably prevent what she wanted to try.

Nevertheless, as she rolled on the ground to prevent another vicious, downward chop, Margaret grabbed a handful of soil from beneath her, and then cast it right at Lorenzo's face.

The ground debris…some of it small bits of broken glass…showered up at Lorenzo's angry, wide-eyed mask. Some of the tiny shards of glass made contact with the young student's eyes as well, and a hand went to his face as he lurched and staggered back, squeezing his watering eyes shut with the irritation caused by the sudden debris throw.

Margaret quickly scrambled away from the blinded boy, hoping to find a place to effectively conceal herself behind. The crumbled remnants of a building…which looked like it had been bombed out…was prominent in this area, and she was able to duck herself behind a still-intact door as she dashed over to the building's ruins.

She went quiet, slowing her breathing as best she could, as Lorenzo attempted a recovery. A hand went to her face as she quickly wiped it clean of sweat and soil.

The machete-wielding student spent about three minutes stalking the area, hoping to find the kill he had chosen. He came close to Margaret's position…very close…before uttering the two words which sent a wave of relief over the frightened, concealed girl.

" _Fuck_ this." Lorenzo growled.

She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before craning her head over to see if he was gone. Sure enough, he was distancing himself to the point where he was just a speck before Margaret heaved a more relaxed sigh.

Patting her school uniform free of soil that had collected on it, Margaret spotted a staircase close to the intact door that she had found. Curiously, she began to descend down the steps. The lack of light in her evening descent compelled Margaret to pull out her flashlight and bring it to life as she descended.

Two more flights of stairs awaited her before it ended, and revealed a curiously intact element that still looked functional.

It was a large safe.

Tilting her head in her curiosity, she approached the large, square-shaped security box, noting the large dial that served as its combination lock mechanism. A steel lever could also be seen beside this dial.

The strange thing about this safe was that while everything else about this building was broken, rusted, or otherwise derelict and useless, the safe looked relatively new, and perfectly functional.

As if it had been fairly recently placed there.

It was still heavy, so Margaret could not move it. The only logical thing that could be done with it, Margaret surmised, was to attempt to open it.

If she knew the combination, that is.

She gave the dial a few spins, trying a few numbers. Unsurprisingly, the seal of the safe never yielded to her attempts.

But it was clear to the young, armored student that there was something inside this thing.

A long yawn, partially provoked by her exhaustion over the brief battle with Lorenzo, compelled Margaret to use the fairly well-concealed area to take a much-needed nap, if not a few hours sleep. All she needed to do was to kill the light.

Fixing herself up as comfortably as she could, Margaret switched off the light and settled in next to the safe. A few minutes after she had closed her eyes, she was fast asleep.

* * *

Manuel Ortiz said nothing at all about his encounter with Gina Salazar when he returned to the Workshop. He had given a nod of acknowledgement to Violet Noda, who was now on watch, as he wandered back in.

As he settled down on a stool near the Workshop's grinder, he reminisced on the words he had exchanged with Hubert Parry during the bus ride.

 _"Mr. Parry…what if the rumors are true? I mean…what do we do then? I wanna create stuff, not kill people!"_

 _"And that's what you'll keep doing, Manny. You'll keep creating stuff. Just like any artist. You'll see. Once we get to the resort, we'll all have a big laugh about that silly rumor."_

Another mantra…this one he learned from his shop class teacher…then ran through his mind as he went into his Survival Pack and pulled out his binoculars.

 _Create something from nothing._

As his eyes went from his binoculars to the grinder, the words of Peter Ellis were mentally revisited.

 _Maybe if you removed the lenses…_

The remnant of a solid steel hand tool helped him pry apart the lens area of the hand-sized binoculars to the point where he could carefully remove each of the lenses, discarding the now-useless binoculars once they were extracted.

Now, it was a matter of sharpening the edges, just like Ron had done with the sides of Mike Zimmer's pot lid. Manny figured that the lenses would be small enough to capably conceal. As he mentally continued to figure out a means of using the makeshift weapons he was contemplating, he decided to turn the grinder on.

But just as he brought the edge of the first lens to the spinning grinder, he felt a tap at his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Violet Noda gazing back at him.

"You should wait until morning to do that." Violet advised. "People are trying to get some sleep. You should, too."

Sighing, Manuel nodded, and killed the power to the grinder. Violet then noticed the remnants of the binoculars.

She frowned as her gaze switched to Manny, gesturing to his dismantled 'weapon' as she spoke. "We could have _used_ those, you know." She quietly chided.

Manuel shrugged irritably. "My weapon, my choice."

Still a little disappointed by this decision, Violet shook her head as she turned around and resumed her evening watch.

Thoughts of Gina were on Manny's mind as he attempted to get comfortable by the grinder. Pocketing the extracted lenses, he closed his eyes, hoping to enjoy a dream of being in a gang with Gina Salazar.

He dreamed, instead, of his mother staring down at him with an accusing glare.

* * *

 **\- WOODHAVEN, QUEENS, NY – 12:35 A.M.**

 **M1M00R4:** Hello?

 **M1M00R4:** You still with me?

 **1450N:** Yeah.

 **1450N:** I just nodded off. Been at this for hours. Really cool part is that my mom's  
actually letting me skip school to do all this.

 **M1M00R4:** Well…it's not only her daughter, but your sister, no?

 **1450N:** Yeah, I know. She's a good Jedi, too.

 **M1M00R4:** Oh, she likes Star Wars?

 **1450N:** Like you wouldn't believe.

 **M1M00R4:** What about you?

 **1450N:** I'm more into mythologies. Greek, Egyptian, Roman, that kind of thing.

 **1450N:** Star Wars is cool, though. I get a kick out of the whole Rebellion against  
the Empire thing.

 **M1M00R4:** Okay…you should be good on those codes, but remember…it's a timed hack.  
Once you start it, you can mess with any one of the computerized functions  
on the island, but I'm guessing that you'll only have control for about 10 to 15  
minutes…maybe less…before they try and trace your signal.

 **M1M00R4:** I'll send you activation instructions by e-mail.

 **1450N:** Cool. What kinds of things could I do?

 **M1M00R4:** You can kill the surveillance microphones in the collars, for one. Whoever is  
monitoring the progress of the game won't be able to spy on what the students  
are doing.

 **M1M00R4:** You can also delete a red map box for 10 to 15 minutes. That basically means  
that you can get rid of the signal that makes collars explode. In the game, they  
call those boxes Danger Zones.

 **1450N:** Nice.

 **M1M00R4:** You could also immediately detonate one of the collars, but…well, not  
advisable. Any one of the numbers on that map screen could be your sister.

 **M1M00R4:** Try to remember that if you use the hack, there's a chance you could  
be traced. It's up to you. If you'd rather wait until I can get something a little  
more untraceable worked out, that would be a smart move.

 **1450N:** How long could that take?

 **M1M00R4:** Can't say. From what I know, the BR that they're doing in your country is a  
kind of prototype, which likely means they're using raw, freshly-translated  
versions of the computerized BR systems here in Japan, so aside from the  
possibility of your being traced, the hack I gave you should work fine.

 **1450N:** Cool.

 **M1M00R4:** If you can't resist the temptation, don't stay connected to the BR systems for  
too long. 5 seconds at the most. That should be a short enough time to keep  
them from even trying to trace your location.

 **M1M00R4:** If you DO try, then get back to me after you disconnect and tell me if you were  
able to break in.

 **M1M00R4:** If it works out as I hope it will, I'll at least be assured that you'll be able to mess  
with their computers in the first place.

 **1450N:** Gotcha. Is there any way to get a list of the names that go with the numbers?

 **M1M00R4:** Nope. You'll have to cope with ASCII characters where the names are. Sorry,  
kiddo.

 **1450N:** Damn.

 **M1M00R4:** Just break in for about five seconds, kill a Danger Zone, then get out and get  
back to me. Then we can talk about working on a more foolproof and lasting  
hack that could save lives.

 **M1M00R4:** Okay?

 **1450N:** Yeah. Cool.

 **1450N:** Hey…thanks. I really appreciate this, man.

 **M1M00R4:** You're welcome, but…I'm a girl. :)

 **1450N:** Oh! Sorry.

 **M1M00R4:** It's cool. The software we're working with is a heavily modified version of  
the one my brother used during his BR program, btw.

 **1450N:** Shit…I gotta go. I just nodded off again.

 **M1M00R4:** Don't forget to get back to me tomorrow when you try the hack.

 **M1M00R4:** If all goes well, and we can save a few lives, maybe you and I can hack the  
planet together. ;)

 **1450N:** Heh…cool. Nite!

 **M1M00R4:** Say YO, nara!

 **Middle School 202 – Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"Choose Life!"  
** **Achieve a body count of 10 students or  
** **less after Day One**


	10. IX: Day Two - The First Report

**IX: Day Two - The First Report**

 _"Behind every peace, there's a river of blood, sweat, and tears. But if we avert our eyes from that history and abandon it, then peace might as well be dog shit."_

 _\- Shuya Nanahara, "Battle Royale II: Requiem"_

 **~DAY TWO~  
** **6:00 A.M.**

"Morning Mood"…a classical music piece from Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt Suite…played over the loudspeakers, rousing almost everyone from their sleep, or the naps that dissolved into a much longer period of slumbering. Many of them snapped awake, fearful that they might have been wounded or crippled in their sleep, while others who were more secure and safely concealed…like Margaret Turmell…slowly opened their eyes to listen to the words of Mrs. Emerson, which they knew would cut into the music.

Cassandra was wide-eyed, and looking very paranoid, as she stepped…or rather, staggered…to the microphone. Her vision was a bit of a blur as she pressed down on the button that would transmit her voice all over the island.

"I…I'm playing this…because none of you shit-stains know what good music sounds like." Cassandra chided, making an effort to keep from slurring her words. "Hear that? THAT'S good music! Not like your fucking rap, or your shitty rock, or your freaky goth crap…ssso, ummm…who died? We have a fucking list? Huh? WHADDYA MEAN, 'NO ONE DIED'? _SHIT!_ YOU FUCKING COWARDS! WHAZIT GONNA TAKE TO GET YOU ALL TO KILL EACH OTHER? HUH? Hey…can we make a Danger Zone outta that…that Workshop there?"

Everyone at the Workshop prepared to move upon hearing this, and those who were still asleep there were very quickly awakened. They all expected their collars to start beeping in the silence that followed Cassandra's inquiry.

"There it is…that's the Workshop thingie…right? yyyYAHH!" The sound of a 'click' followed, similar to that which was made when she flicked the last switch during her broadcast…

…but none of the collars around the necks of anyone in the Workshop started beeping.

Instead, the collar on Emma Curahee's neck…still inside the Gymnasium…sounded off its signal.

Her breakfast rudely interrupted, she grabbed her things and dashed out of the new Danger Zone as quickly as she could. She was within 5 seconds of her collar exploding when it finally went silent.

"There!" Cassandra's voice continued. "Got you Workshop bitches…huh? That _wasn't_ the Workshop? Thaz what it _says_ there, yeah? Oh. Oh, shit…fuckin' Gymnayzzum. Oh well…let that be a lesson t' you snot-noses. I'll get it right _next_ time…where's the goddamn Danger Zones?"

The microphone was suddenly pulled out of Cassandra's hand by an entirely unamused Captain Curahee, who shoved the drug-addled woman to the side as he lifted the page that was in his other hand. A crash could be heard in the background as Curahee spoke. "These are your Danger Zones of the day. From 0700 hours, E-8, from 0900 hours, B-9, and at 1100 hours, F-7." As Curahee lowered the page, Cassandra began to mutter incoherently, forcing him to try and speak over her ramblings. "Your quote of the day is from Thomas Jefferson. 'The tree of liberty must be refreshed…SHUT THE _FUCK UP,_ CASS!...must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants'. You kids need to learn harder lessons about the way the world works. It's not all roses and rainbows and snorting heroin or smoking dope. You can't just sit in front of your TV sets and shoot pixels all day. You actually get up off your asses and make a fucking difference no matter how much you complain about sore muscles. If it means we have to whip you little assholes until you're ready to wake up and smell the discipline, that's exactly what the new american way is prepared to do! That is _all!_ "

Peter Ellis stepped over to a yawning Issac Meyer as he ate the breakfast meal his Survival Pack provided him with. "Well, _that_ was interesting."

Issac nodded as he swallowed his mouthful of food. "We could use the obvious rift between Emerson and the Captain to our advantage, Mister Ellis."

"That woman sounded like she was on drugs." Patrick Dane observed as he and Herman Krieger stepped over. "I mean, _literally._ "

Issac had to chuckle at this. "Not surprised."

The sound of buzzing followed that of the grinder being turned on. When Peter glanced over to the machine, he saw that Manuel Ortiz was in front of it, no doubt applying the suggestion he had made the day before.

Issac frowned in confusion, as did the others, upon hearing the buzzing.

Peter just shrugged, smiling. "Looks like we won't be using Manny's binoculars anymore."

* * *

 _Off-duty Police Lieutenant Graham Angel had his 9 year old daughter, Gloria, in his vehicle as they continued the 'secret journey' he wanted to share with his beautiful child. The convenience was that Graham's tour was over, and he was back home, around the time Gloria had returned home from Elementary School._

 _He had been discreetly informed of the arrest that had been made by one of his fellow officers, and he made sure that he was told why the adolescent man was nabbed. This would be as good a time as any for Graham to teach his daughter a very valuable lesson, which was why he had a pair of rubber gloves on his hands as they manipulated the steering wheel of the car._

 _His partner, who always seemed very disturbed by the conduct of the devoutly religious man Graham always was, had heard Graham speak of the lesson he had wanted to teach his daughter, but he completely ignored Officer Brine's concerns. Ignored Brine's silly notion that Gloria's eyes were far too young for her to experience such a 'lesson'._

 _Gloria sat patiently in the passenger seat as the Station Wagon continued moving through the late afternoon streets as the sun began to disappear on the horizon, displaying the beautiful colors of the sunset that came before the void-like blackness of a typical evening._

 _"Now remember, sweetheart." Graham reminded his curious daughter. "Don't say anything about what I'm gonna show you. Don't talk about it with anyone. This is between you, me, and God. Understand?"_

 _Gloria nodded, smiling. "Yes, Daddy."_

 _"No matter what you see, it's God's work. It's what He expects of those who live by His word."_

 _As they neared an apartment building area where a couple of squad cars had parked, and where police officers were keeping the area secure, Graham placed a strobe on top of the car and brought the whirling lights within the clear glass dome to life, heralding the approach of a fellow officer of the law._

 _Releasing himself from his seatbelt, Graham…a heavy-set man who always had his blond hair groomed so short that he was practically bald…opened the car door on his side. "Stay here for a moment, honey."_

 _Gloria patiently watched her father head over to the uniformed officers, who answered his inquiries, and then motioned to an alley between the apartment buildings. Graham gave them all instructions before returning to the Station Wagon, approaching the front passenger side where his daughter was sitting._

 _Opening the door, Gloria released her own seatbelt and slid out of the seat, taking her father's hand as the two of them went into the dark alleyway._

 _Graham pulled a set of keys from the pocket of his tan-colored pants as they approached what looked like a young Caucasian man of adolescent age. His short brown hair looked a little disheveled, and he looked very nervous. He was kneeling upon the ground, his wrists bound together behind him by a pair of tightly-fitted metal handcuffs._

 _Gloria saw that his face was moist with sweat, and she could tell by the look on his face that he was extremely nervous. He certainly didn't look like the kind of person that would cause trouble._

 _Graham had her daughter stand right in front of the kneeling perp, who had a regretful look on his face as he gazed back at Gloria._

 _Her father gestured to the bound perp with a finger as he spoke. "You run, I shoot you, and you won't get back up. Understand?"_

 _The perp rapidly nodded in understanding._

 _Graham then lowered to a knee and twisted a key he inserted into the keyhole of the cuffs, freeing the kneeling man. He rubbed his wrists as Graham rose to his feet, and pocketed the cuffs. The Lieutenant, still behind the perp, switched his gaze to his daughter's curious eyes, speaking in a discreet tone._

 _"This guy here is what's called a fornicator, sweetheart." Graham explained. "He was caught stalking a younger girl with the intent to rape her."_

 _"Wh…that's not true!" The kneeling perp immediately protested. "I just wanted to say hello! She was pretty! I only wanted to be a friend!"_

 _"SHUT UP!" Graham angrily yelled to the intimidated young man, who now looked even more nervous as the Lieutenant resumed speaking to Gloria. "The police officers told me that the girl was very nervous about this guy as he was following her around. Now usually, we'd just let him off with a warning, but we all know he'll just find and rape another girl, if not this one. They can't be forgiven. Ever. We need to do God's work, honey. He needs to be taught a very important lesson, which is something you should always do whenever you need to deal with a fornicator just like this one."_

 _The face of the perp reflected his flash of anger. "This is BULLSHIT! I didn't rape ANYONE! I just wanted t…"_

 _Before the perp could finish speaking, a switchblade Graham had produced, and clicked open, as the young man protested was now cutting the perp's throat open, the blade biting into the flesh of his neck very deeply, and from one ear to the other as the perp's eyes boggled in shock._

 _Gloria continued to stare, accusingly, upon the perp. Even after his throat had been cut open._

 _As the young perp began gasping for air, falling forward as blood spilled and pooled onto the ground in front of him, Graham dropped the blade on the ground beside him. Shoving the dying perp to the side, he knelt before Gloria, placing his hands upon her shoulders._

 _"Remember, sweetheart…you're an Angel. Just like me." Graham assured. "We're God's army. We punish the sinners by any means necessary. Like I just did, if you have to. No matter what happens afterwards, God will appreciate you doing his important work."_

 _Gloria nodded in understanding, smiling, as the perp went silent, and stopped moving._

* * *

The altercation between Cassandra and Captain Curahee over the loudspeakers naturally awakened Gloria Angel from her sleep…

…and when her eyes opened, she saw the pistol, and the ammo clips that went with it. The soldier made certain that the weapon would be the first thing Gloria would see when she opened her eyes.

The blond girl frowned in her confusion as she kept her eyes on the pistol. There were no notes anywhere to explain things. The automatic pistol laid idly on one side, and the clips were neatly arrayed beside it.

As her father had taught her how to handle firearms, Gloria checked the clip that was resident in the weapon, and found that a full clip was already resident in the gun. Slapping the clip back in, she picked up the row of clips and slipped them inside her Survival Pack.

Uttering a silent prayer, she maintained her grip on the weapon that had been left for her, and then rose to her feet to resume her hunt for more fornicators.

* * *

While he still felt pain in his leg, Walter Abilene was still able to at least move, albeit with a very evident limp.

 _You gotta fight through it, kid._ He remembered his father, Roger, telling him when he hurt himself during a furniture repair job at home years ago, in which Roger accidentally slammed one of his fingers with the wild swing of a hammer. _No matter how much you're suffering! If you can still move, you can keep fighting!_

Martin Norris and Moriah Houk kept an eye on Walter during his progress, as did Annabeth Grant, as they kept moving away from the Infirmary.

Martin glanced behind him as they moved. "Seems a shame to abandon that place." He idly observed. "We could have made a nice little triage for this program."

Annabeth, who was at the front of the group, had the MP5 in her hands as she scanned the terrain in front of her. "I'm not exactly a nurse, Martin. Neither is Moe."

"Oh, so Walter was able to recover on his own?" Martin hurried over to Annabeth, walking behind her as she moved. "Actually, that's not the better question. The better one is how a girl with a butter knife was suddenly able to get her hands on a fully-loaded machine gun."

"That's none of your business, paleface." Moriah warily shot back, tightening her grip on her hand axe.

"You ever fire one of those things before?" Martin asked. "Because I have. Maybe I should…"

Walter, Annabeth, and Moriah spoke the same response quite firmly. "NO."

Martin sighed irritably, throwing up his hands in his evident defeat. "Fine, fine…"

Continuing their journey towards the Workshop, they spotted two figures within the nearby trees. Both were on the ground, and both of them were female.

But only one of them was wearing clothes.

Signalling for the others to follow behind, the quartet closed in on these two students, who looked more familiar as they came closer. The unnatural blond girl…who Moriah knew to be Krystal Riley…was comforting the quiet nude girl whose long and somewhat messy black hair Annabeth suspected to be the hair of Valerie Chung.

She looked like she was trembling, however. Upon spotting the incoming group, a frowning Krystal lifted Valerie's axe defensively.

"That's far enough." Krystal called out when they were about five feet away.

Annabeth's frown was a concerned one. "Val?"

Valerie slowly lifted her head towards the source of the familiar voice, pushing hair out of her eyes as she gazed back at her best friend. "Oh God…hi, Annabeth…"

Moriah feared the worst. "Did someone try to…"

"No, no. I…they turned the house we found into a fucking Danger Zone." Valerie interjected. "I dropped my clothes while we ran. Happened while I was trying to take a shower."

Moriah nodded. "Let's get you something to wear, then." She then turned to Martin. "Take your shirt off."

"Wh… _me?_ " The surprised student protested. "This is a male shirt! Why don't you…"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me put that a different way." Moriah then raised her axe threateningly. "Take your shirt off _right fucking now._ "

He then heard the click of a safety latch on a weapon being disengaged. Glancing to Annabeth, he saw that she was pointing the Submachine Gun right at him.

Easily intimidating him, this brought Martin's hands to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one at a time. Walter had turned around for Valerie's sake as Martin handed off his white button-down shirt to Annabeth.

"Thank you." Annabeth grabbed the shirt with one hand. "Now turn around."

Moriah kept an eye on Martin as Annabeth went over to help Valerie slip on the offered shirt. She still, however, felt that something was missing once she finished buttoning it up.

"This isn't enough." Valerie protested. "I need a bra and panties."

"I am _not_ donating my underwear." Martin quickly remarked.

"You think maybe we could find something along the way?" Moriah reasoned.

Valerie, however, shook her head as she kept her arms protectively crossed in front of her. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't care if this area becomes a Danger Zone. I'm not moving without…"

"Val."

It was a male voice that both Annabeth and Valerie knew the moment they heard it. It was also a voice Valerie did not want to hear ever again. Her eyes went wide.

Annabeth warily turned her head towards the source of the voice, and confirmed that it was indeed William Han. In his left hand was a Baseball Bat. Hanging down from his outstretched right hand was a bloodstained bra, and a pair of panties.

Annabeth slowly pointed the barrel of the MP5 at the athlete, who took two careful steps forward, and then laid the bra and panties down upon the ground. "Yolanda was about your size, so…" William shrugged as he spoke. "…they should fit."

William then retreated a couple of steps before turning and dashing in the opposite direction, quickly distancing himself from the mystified group.

Annabeth looked a bit surprised as she stepped over to retrieve the offered underwear garments. No words were exchanged as Valerie hesitantly slipped on what Billy Han had offered.

Martin discreetly spoke over to Walter. "What the hell was that about?"

Moriah irritably rolled her eyes, overhearing Martin's words. "Why don't you mind your own…"

"He's my ex." Valerie revealed as she finally rose to her feet. "Billy and I dated for almost a year. Then he started getting over-protective. Threatened any guy who even _looked_ at me in a way he didn't like. When I tried to break up with him, he got…abusive."

"Ouch." Martin mused.

"Yolanda…" Annabeth seemed to pick up on the familiarity of the name. "…one of the girls that died yesterday, obviously.'

Moriah nodded. "Billy was probably the one who killed those girls."

"No. They were shot up." Valerie quickly corrected. "I watched it happen from a distance. They found that Japanese guy, but he killed them all as they were bullying him around."

"Man lives up to his killer rep, don't he?" Martin noted.

"Those girls were dumb. Just a bunch of clowns who didn't give a shit about anything or anyone other than themselves." Moriah replied. "I'm not surprised they died early."

"I agree." Walter added. "I don't know about any of you, but I'd like to have a little talk with that Shuya guy."

Martin shook his head. "Bad idea."

"Why?" Walter frowned to the contest winner. "Martin…he survived _two_ Battle Royales, both of which were forced on him by his country's government. I would think he could at least sympathize with what _we're_ going through. Maybe give us a little advice, if not more than that."

"Walt…the guy's a fucking _terrorist._ " Martin countered. "He bombed a bunch of buildings in Japan and killed a bunch of innocent people. Nobody likes him, and nobody should trust him. He's probably responsible for half, if not all, of the deaths on the island thus far. Wouldn't surprise me if he turned out to be a goddamn ninja."

Moriah regarded Martin with an incredulous look. "Melodramatic much?"

"We're all supposed to die here anyway, Martin." Walter responded. "If you ask me, it's worth the risk."

Martin grinned. "All but one, anyway."

"But…the guy's a jap." Krystal noted. "He doesn't know any English."

Walter responded in japanese. "And I can speak his language."

"Then we have a lot to talk about."

Walter's eyes widened, as did everyone else's. The response was in Japanese, and it wasn't coming from the loudspeakers, so it could not have been Cassandra Emerson.

And when their eyes found Shuya Nanahara stepping out to face them…with Malcolm Derricks, Vladis Jellinek, and Michael Zimmer stepping in behind him…their blood ran cold.

Particularly when they saw the Machine Pistol in one hand…

…and Destiny Lopez's bloodstained GPS Device in the other, which he held up and waved in a sly greeting.

Mike Zimmer, on the other hand, lit up like a Christmas Tree upon spotting Krystal Riley, who smiled and waved sweetly to Mike upon noticing him.

* * *

A trickle of blood leaked out of Cassandra Emerson's right nostril after inhaling a fresh line of the fine white powder she had carefully poured out onto the teacher's desk in the otherwise empty classroom. She called this habit of snorting up a cocaine line shortly after emerging from an evening's sleep as her 'wake-up call'.

She was quick to clean up the residue from the inhalation, as Cassandra did not want to go through a repeat of the confrontation she had yesterday with the Captain. She wiped away the blood drops from her nose, as well.

She still felt drops of warm blood coming from her nose, however.

"Ah, _fuck._ " Quickly grabbing a few tissues from a box of them that was nearby, she quickly placed it against her nose. Moist, warm redness began to decorate the white fabric of the soft tissue as she held it there.

 _…Caaass-hoooole…_

Cassandra was quick to pull out her gun, whirling around to point it at the source of the very faint voices she had heard behind her. The drug-addled teacher's eyes boggled.

But no one was there.

She slowly began to lower her gun…

 _…Caaass-hoooole…_

She spun around once again, hearing the mocking voices…which sounded like a group of little children…behind her.

 _Hey! Cass-hole!_

Instinctively, she looked behind her, feeling something hit her posterior. The last time she felt this impact, a chalkboard eraser covered with white chalk residue had smacked her against a brand new skirt she had purchased for her first day as a schoolteacher years ago.

The ass end of her black skirt, however, remained clean.

 _…Caaass-hoooole…Caaass-hoooole…_

"Shut uuup…." Cassandra angrily growled as she gritted her teeth, keeping her gun out as she slowly spun in place. She could practically see the merciless little bastards surrounding her now, continuing to taunt her. "… _shut uuuup...!_ "

 _You hit me! I'm telling!_

 _My dog ate my homework, Mrs. Cass-hole!_

Her eyes widened in her mounting paranoia. "I'll _kill_ you…" She hissed as the now sweat-soaked woman warily aimed the gun around her, moving around the room as she did. "…I'll kill you little shit-stains…"

 _I seriously believe you're unfit to teach, Cassandra._

The voice she heard was that of her first boss, which she remembered was one of the last few things he told her prior to her losing her first teaching job. "No…nononono…I…I can do better…one more chance…" She dropped to her knees, her free hand grasping her own head. "…please…one more chance…I'll…I'll be…good…"

 _Please don't hit me anymore, Mrs. Emerson!_ Another child's pained, sobbing voice, which she remembered from the corporal punishment she had unwisely inflicted upon a student over a mild infraction. _I'll be good…I'll be good…_

 _You shouldn't be using that stuff outside of your surgery, Cassandra!_ The words of her horrible, elderly mother tortured her now. _You'll kill yourself! Do you know what that horrible cocaine does to your heart?_

She squinted her eyes shut tightly, wanting the merciless taunts coming from all around her to be quiet. She slowly placed the barrel of her revolver against the side of her head as her first boss screamed the words that ended her first attempt at being a schoolteacher.

 _YOU'RE FIRED!_

The mocking children then sang their dreaded chorus yet again. _CAAAAASS-HOOOOLE!_

Her gun arm aimed directly in front of her as her eyes flew open in her rage. "FUCK YOOOOUU!"

The bullet struck a picture of George Washington, which was a replication of the image imprinted on american dollar bills. The shot struck the image right between the eyes of the long-dead President.

Her wild, angry expression slowly melted into a sick and twisted grin as she slowly rose to her feet, her sweaty body shaking.

The voices were gone, replaced only by the relative silence in the classroom. Cassandra's free hand wiped sweat from her face as she tried to regain not only her composure, but her sanity.

The silence was broken by the brief appearance of a masked soldier at one of the classroom's two doors. A soldier who was obviously sent up by the Captain to check on the source of the gunshot that rang out. He cradled his MP5 in his hands as he peered into the room.

He glanced to the picture, and then to Cassandra, who shrugged, smiling meekly.

"Oops." She sheepishly remarked.

Without another word, the soldier stepped away from the classroom door, and went back downstairs to report to the Captain.

Once the soldier was gone, Cassandra settled into the seat at the teacher's desk and relaxed herself, closing her eyes while taking deep, relaxing breaths.

A glance at the surface of the desk reminded Cassandra of what she was doing before she lapsed into a deep sleep. The folders of the two wanted Japanese terrorists…Shuya Nanahara, and Noriko Nakagawa…were still there. Only Shuya's, however, had been opened and perused.

Reaching for Noriko's file, she broke the seal and pulled out the file's contents.

* * *

The agony of the multiple whiplashes had eventually caused Trudi Malone to pass out. She had even remained unconscious through the first report of the day.

Trudi found that she was still restrained in the bloodstained rope she had been tied up with when her closed eyes opened to narrow slits. Daylight shone down from the staircase in the otherwise darkened basement room Natalie Cross had dragged her down to.

The honor student's hair felt different. Like it had been re-styled while she was unconscious. It was now tight against her head, and she felt the presence of what she surmised to be a ponytail hanging down behind her head. As she was still bound, she couldn't reach her hands up to check on her new hairstyle.

Through her blurred vision, Trudi saw a humanoid silhouette come close. She initially believed that this was Natalie, but this person had no bullwhip in either of her hands. As it was still very dark down in the basement, Trudi could only feel this person place a cold, wet piece of white cloth against her face and begin rubbing the cloth gently upon it.

"Who…" she whispered wearily. "…whozat…?"

"Is Nadia." The familiar, Russian-accented voice answered. " _Dobroye utro._ "

Although she had never associated with the Russian girl, Trudi at least knew what she looked like, but she had a head of long, unstyled light brown hair which hung down.

From what Trudi was able to make out in the darkness, it looked like Nadia's hair was also styled in a ponytail.

Or rather, a braid which reached halfway down her back.

"What're you…doing…?" Trudi asked, her voice still weak.

"Mistress want me to clean your face." Nadia softly replied. "Is feel good, _da?_ "

Trudi slowly nodded. "My ass feels like it's…burning."

"I help you with that too." Nadia quietly assured. "Just relax."

Once Nadia finished going over Trudi's face, the Russian student disappeared into the darkness ahead, and the sound of running water could be heard. Nadia's silhouette then returned to Trudi, the white cloth now dripping in its saturation, and after lowering to her knees, she began to rub the cold, wet cloth against Trudi's bare posterior.

Initially reacting with a shock from the cold, a soothing feeling replaced the momentary sting, and she breathed out relaxedly, closing her eyes in her developing euphoria.

"Mistress want me to give you instruction." Nadia remarked as she continued to apply cold water to her restrained subject. "You call her 'Mistress' at all time. You do what she say, or you get pain. She say you do not have weapon. She say you need to get one."

"What did you get?" Trudi asked.

"Crossbow." Nadia answered. "I kill someone with it. Boy with tattoos who say he will win. I find my way to this place. Mistress here already."

"And she took you in." Trudi added. "Just like she did with me."

"Mistress say pain make you strong." Nadia explained. "I need to be strong. I want to help her get off island. You should too, _da?_ "

"Of course she does." Natalie's voice replied from the direction of the spiraling staircase. "Free Trudi's ankles, and bring her up."

"Yes, Mistress." Once she loosened the portions of the bloody rope that had restrained Trudi's legs, Nadia helped the weary girl to her feet, and then guided the barefoot honor student up the spiraling stairs. Trudi noticed that Nadia was also barefoot as they ascended towards the more illuminated main level of the house.

Trudi squinted with the brightness that met her eyes upon stepping away from the stairs. She now saw that Nadia was wearing a much more skimpy semblance of her school uniform, as if it had been torn up and re-applied to show a lot more skin, while keeping her privates covered.

Trudi also noticed that she was now wearing an identical version of Nadia's skimpy appearance, which was apparently crafted from her own school uniform. She shivered from a draft that ran through the residence, and across her skin. Goosebumps were clearly evident as Trudi's eyes found the goth girl who had become her 'mistress'. Coiled up, and in her hands, was her black leather Bullwhip.

A wicked grin formed on Natalie's face when she saw the weary expression on Trudi's face. "Good morning, slave."

Nadia lowered to her knees. When Trudi looked curiously to the Russian girl, her expression seemed to indicate that Trudi should lower herself similarly.

Natalie's eyes now regarded Nadia as she shook her head shamefully, emitting a 'tut, tut' sound. "You didn't tell her to kneel whenever I'm in front of her?"

Trudi, however, felt defiant. "Leave her alone. I'm not kneeling."

Natalie's eyes widened in her surprise as the bullwhip unraveled. "This is how you repay your Mistress for keeping you safe from the other students?"

Trudi held her head high. "I have my pride. I won't let you break me."

"Ooooh. Feisty." Natalie stepped up to Trudi, grinning once again as she tightened her grip on the handle of her leather weapon. "My favorite kind of slaves. I had that feeling about you when I whipped you into unconsciousness last night. You never even shed any tears, like Nadia did."

Trudi kept silent, staring forward with a stalwart expression.

"Did you want me to let you go, slave?" Natalie amusedly asked. "Without a weapon? Leave you to fend for yourself? No food? No water? Waiting to die, in a cold, dark hiding space? Cowering for your life?"

Trudi swallowed hard. "Workshop."

Natalie couldn't help but giggle at this. "What makes you think they actually will work together? Or that someone like Emma Curahee won't find them and gun them all down with her Submachine Gun before you get there?" The goth girl's lips came very close to Trudi's ear. "Assuming _you_ don't die first on the way over."

"What makes you think she's not gonna come after _us?_ " Trudi challenged, still staring forward.

"Lady Fate tends to smile upon me." Natalie confidently responded. "She brought me you and Nadia, after all."

Trudi sighed irritably. "I'm not some divine gift, Nattie. I'm a…"

"Jedi. I know." Natalie amusedly interjected, leaning against a wall as she spoke. "And a feisty one, too. Lady Fate also brought me Nadia. She could take someone out without even making a noise with her weapon."

"I do it once." Nadia reminded, looking up to Trudi. "I do it again."

Natalie stepped over to speak in Trudi's ear once again. "What if I told you you could have dibs on the next weapon we come across?"

Trudi sighed out once again. "I think I'd rather have my lightsaber back, Nattie."

The honor student then felt a vicious, loud, and stinging slap at her left butt cheek, which she had forgotten was as bare as Nadia's save for the thong-like remnants of cloth from her school outfit which barely covered her privates. Trudi winced over the sting of the slap.

"You will call me _Mistress,_ slave." Natalie growled.

"I'm not your slave!"

 _*SLAP!*_ Her right butt cheek felt the impact this time. Trudi barely stifled her moan, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Go on, slave." The smirking goth girl gloated. "Let me hear you say it. What do you call me?"

"Bitch." Trudi replied.

 _*SLAP!*_ She struck the left cheek, followed by another hard slap to the right, and then to the left again. Trudi kept her eyes squinted shut with the surprisingly hard shots from Natalie's bare hand, the impacts producing moans of agony.

 _Don't break._ She kept thinking to herself. _Don't break!_

Natalie spoke through gritted teeth now. "What do you _call_ me, Jedi girl?"

"Fucked in the head!" Trudi shot back.

As Trudi was still tightly bound at the wrists, there was no stopping the sadistic goth girl from a veritable onslaught of open-handed slaps to her ass, which began to look bright red from the repeated blows. Sweat and tears mingled as Trudi tried to keep from breaking…

…but after eight solid strikes, it became too much for her to bear any longer. " _Mistress!_ " She cried out, tears streaming down her eyes. "Mistress! Mistress…okay…" She tried to keep from sobbing openly, but the moment was beginning to remind her of the corporal punishments she endured when she was younger. "…y-you win…Mistress…"

Natalie now began rubbing briskly at her butt cheeks, which was soothing compared to the strikes. Once again, she spoke right in Trudi's sweaty ear. "Good girl. See? I told you Lady Fate smiles upon me."

As much as she relented, however, she still formed enough of a rationale to play along rather than rashly resist. After all…even Leia Organa had been humbled to become nothing more than a slave girl to Jabba the Hutt, and she was eventually able to repay Jabba in kind with a fatal strangling once her brother…Luke Skywalker…came to rescue Han Solo and his sister.

The pain she was feeling, however, was more than she initially imagined Natalie was capable of inflicting. She had to wonder how this particular student had been raised.

The rubbing at her reddened posterior, however, was the exact opposite of what Trudi was forced to endure moments ago. Her moist eyes lowered to slits as she heaved more relaxing breaths.

"Don't worry, slave." Natalie hissed gently into her ear as she kept rubbing. "I treat my loyal slaves _very_ well. Doesn't this feel good?"

Trudi had to nod, drops of sweat falling from her chin. "Yes…yes…"

"Yes what?"

Her rubbing hand once again viciously smacked Trudi's left butt cheek.

Trudi groaned painfully in response. "Y-yes…M-Mmmmistress…!"

Natalie giggled. "Gooood girl." She hissed into the honor student's ear. "Gooood slave."

* * *

Margaret Turmell made it a point, after waking up from her fortunately uneventful night's sleep, to mark the area where she had found the unopened safe on her map prior to setting back out in a direction which she had hoped would take her towards the Workshop. She remained entirely cautious as she resumed her journey, keeping out of sight as much as possible and choosing roads and pathways that did not keep her exposed for very long.

At one point, her collar began beeping, indicating that she had stepped into a Danger Zone. Retreating her steps, she found a way around this particular zone, and resumed her forward progress, heaving a sigh of relief as she did.

Her confident progress was ultimately rewarded by the sight of what looked like the Workshop! Students were indeed moving within it. He recognized the faces of Violet Noda, Patrick Dane, Herman Krieger…

…and Issac Meyer, the student she had hoped to find since she began this horrible program.

Margaret's eyes naturally lit up upon seeing him, and a full smile was on her face as she hurried forward towards the Workshop area.

"ISSAC!" She called out excitedly, waving her arms as she moved. "MISTER MEEY-YEEEER!"

Fortunately, Issac's bespectacled head began to scan the terrain, looking for the source of the sound he had heard.

She called out his name again…and finally, his eyes found her. She stopped to wave wildly and happily.

But in the next moment, Issac quickly drew his gun, and aimed his loaded weapon in her direction!

Margaret's eyes boggled, letting out a shocked gasp as the gun discharged a single round.

She heard the round whiz past her, though, and very close to the right side of her neck. Behind her, she heard a male voice emit a cry of pain.

Turning around, Margaret spotted a student she had seen many times in the homeroom class every morning, but never bothered to actually meet and talk to. He grasped his shoulder wound painfully as he laid upon the ground. In each of his hands were what looked like round glass lenses.

" _Ffffuuuuuck…!_ " She heard the wounded student growl as he took off in the opposite direction, still grasping his shoulder injury.

Margaret then heard Issac's voice call out to her. He was a little closer to her position now. "Come with me if you want to live, Miss Turmell!"

Margaret was quick to hurry over to where Issac was standing, still holding his smoking gun up. His eyes were no doubt upon whoever it was that tried to sneak up on her from behind.

Pat Dane and Herman Krieger hurried over alongside Peter Ellis, as did Violet Noda. "What's goin' on? Who'd you get?" Pat asked as he slowed to a halt in front of Issac.

"Mister Ortiz is no longer welcome in this Workshop anymore, Mister Dane." Issac calmly reported. "He just tried to open Miss Turmell's throat with his weaponized lenses."

" _Manny?_ " Patrick looked shocked. "No fucking way!"

"I saw it happen too." Violet confirmed. "He tried to sneak up on her from behind."

"I had a feeling he'd try something." Peter added. "From the moment he asked about using the grinder."

Pat looked to Herman. "You think Gina might have put him up to it?"

The larger Dutchman nodded. "Is possible…but vhen could she have gotten to him?"

"Well, he did leave the Workshop last night…" Violet noted. "…but he told me he needed to go take a piss. He took an awfully long time."

"Miss Salazar could have gotten to him in that time." Issac deduced.

"He can stay with her for all I care." Margaret bitterly remarked. "I think she's the one that shot me in the back."

Peter looked surprised. "And you _lived?_ "

Margaret flashed her braces-laced smile to the puzzled students, and then pulled up the blouse of her school uniform to expose the bulletproof vest she wore beneath it.

Issac smiled, placing a hand on Margaret's shoulder. "I wish I could have gotten something like that myself, Miss Turmell. My grandparents would envy you."

Margaret blushed deeply as she grinned like a coquette, lowering her head bashfully.

Patrick turned to Herman. "His grandparents survived the Holocaust." He then turned back to Issac. "Were they in Warsaw?"

"Actually, my grandparents were among the _Schindlerjuden_ , Mister Dane." A smiling Issac calmly corrected. "Their lives were saved by the only member of the Nazi party to be buried on Mount Zion after Oskar's passing in '74."

"Oskar Schindler." Herman noted as he nodded. "A good man among madmen."

Peter's eyes were on Issac. "Reminds me of someone I'm honored to know."

Issac humbly bowed his head. "Happy to be of service, Mister Ellis." He then looked out to where he had spotted Manuel Ortiz. "For as long as you don't try to shoot me in the back, of course."

* * *

Manuel Ortiz continued to grasp his bleeding shoulder as he continued to distance himself from the Workshop. He moaned in agony as the pain from the bullet wound persisted.

He felt fortunate that the wound, as bad as it was, wasn't anywhere near the heart, but there was the possibility that he could bleed to death if the wound wasn't treated. Examining his map, he saw that the Infirmary was a considerable distance from his current location. He would need to work his way around lingering Danger Zones as well.

Manuel didn't expect the sudden strong shove to the ground from behind him. Such was his concentration on working out a map route to the Infirmary that his peripheral vision failed to notice whoever it was who had just gotten the drop on him.

He expected to be executed in the next instant, but he was instead rolled onto his back so Gina Salazar could settle her weight on Manny's crotch. He then found himself staring into the barrel of Gina's Glock pistol.

"Lemme guess." Gina began, smirking as she looked down disappointedly at Manuel. "Ju didn't kill dat fat bitch."

"I _couldn't!_ " Manuel lamented aloud. "I almost had her. I was gonna cut her throat open with a pair of…sharpened lenses! I tried going behind her, but…Issac shot me!"

Gina couldn't help but giggle. "Oh, shit! Dat _jew boy_ popped ya cherry?" She then went serious. "Didn't know he was packin' heat…" Her eyes then went to the bleeding shoulder wound, and the grin came back as Manuel continued to grimace from the pain. She then placed her hand over the blood-soaked injury, and gave it a squeeze, forcing Manuel to howl in agony. "…does dat hurt? Hmm? Does dat hurt, _marica?_ "

Before Manuel could protest, however, Gina slapped her bloody hand over the injured student's mouth, grasping tightly as he continued to moan and whimper.

"Shut da _fuck_ up." Gina growled. "Whasamatta? Ju forgot how to be a _man?_ Life is _pain,_ lil' boy! Ju gotta _suck it up!_ De only way ju gonna be _strong!_ Ain't ju neva heard about separatin' da men from da boys? Which are you, _marica?_ "

Sighing, Gina looked around the area, still sitting upon her catch, and spotted a broken branch big enough for Manuel to bite down upon. She knew what she had to do, having been taught by Alejandro in her gang days. Letting go of Manny's mouth, she reached out and grabbed the nearby branch as Manny spoke.

"I…am _not_ …a _sissy!_ " Manuel growled as he panted, his face soaked with sweat. " _Stop calling me tha…muullrggpph?_ "

Gina had stuck the branch between his teeth. "Bite down on dat. Time to prove ju no pussy. I gotta get dat bullet out."

Stowing her Glock, she then pulled out one of her water bottles and poured some of it onto one of her hands, effectively cleaning them off as she rubbed them together. Her eyes then locked on Manny's bullet wound,

After taking a moment to look around her area, she plunged the long fingernails on the index and the thumb fingers of her right hand right into the bullet wound and began to dig them in. While Manuel's eyes boggled from the terrible pain this provoked, his moans of agony were a little more silent.

His body, however, tensed up as Gina continued to dig through the bleeding injury. After close to a minute of digging, Gina's nails were able to find the embedded slug, and she was able to pull it up to the point where she could extract it, and toss it to the side.

As Manuel panted in relaxation, Gina tapped at his cheek. "Good boy. Jus' relax a minute. One more thing I gotta do. Gimme one o' your lenses."

The wounded student fished a hand into one of his pockets while Gina pulled out her Glock. Extracting its ammo clip, she acquired a single bullet from it and placed it between her teeth as she slapped the clip back into the pistol. After stowing her weapon once again, she began to carefully twist at the head of the bullet, hovering it over Manny's shoulder wound, until she was able to pry it loose. Its gunpowder spilled right onto the wound, forcing a reaction from the wounded student.

Taking the offered lens from Manuel, Gina held it at an angle that reflected the mid-morning sun upon the gunpowder. She placed the index finger of her other hand over Manuel's lips, reminding him to keep quiet despite what was about to happen.

After a moment of the reflection's heat lingering on the powder, the gray material began to smoke and flare up, sending another terrible shot of pain shooting through Manuel's arm as the wound cauterized. Squeezing his eyes shut, he once again groaned from the resulting agony. His teeth bit down deeply upon the branch running across his mouth.

Once the sizzling sound began to die out, Manuel spit the branch out and began to breathe deeply in his effort to relax. Gina handed the lens back to him as he recovered.

"Mama was a nurse." Gina then soberly revealed as she washed the cauterized wound with some of her water. "Wanted me to be one. She taught me some shit while I was growin' up. Alejandro showed me dat trick with de bullet." One of her hands wiped away the sweat on Manuel's brow, and then ran down, gently, along his right cheek. "Bet ju didn't know dat about me, did you, Manny?"

Manuel, who continued to gaze upon Gina's eyes, slowly shook his head in response.

"I did de same thing to Alejandro. I fix his bullet wound when he finally popped his cherry. Made a nice lil' scar, too." Gina quietly explained. "Know where he got hit?"

Manuel shook his head. "Where?" He wearily asked.

Smiling, Gina's finger pointed right at Manuel's shoulder wound. "Right there."

The recovering student thoughtfully shook his head. "I'm not Alejandro, Gina."

Gina's smile melted away upon hearing this. "No shit, _pendejo_." One of her hands tightly grabbed Manuel's jaw. "Ju my _bitch._ Ju follow _me_. Ju do what I say. Dis is _my_ gang, Manny. Ju de dog, an' I hold your leash. Got it?"

"Woof." Manny amusedly responded.

"Ju still need to kill for me, dog." Gina reminded, wagging an index finger at him. "Now, I don't care who it is. Gotta be somebody. Ju wanna try dat fat pig again? Fine. Someone else? _Bueno_. Ju gonna be nothin' but a dog an' a _marica_ 'til ju kill for me."

Gina then fixed an inquisitive stare upon him, expecting some manner of response. Manuel looked entirely hesitant at first…

…but in the next moment, he nodded. "I…I'll try."

" _Fuck_ dat 'try' shit. Ju gonna _do it._ " Gina irritably remarked, pulling her gun out. "Which would ju rather be, _marica?_ My bitch…" She once again pointed the gun at Manuel's face. "…or my next kill?"

Manuel was quiet for a long and fearful moment as he once again stared into the gunbarrel. What came out of his mouth next was unavoidable.

"I love you." Manuel suddenly admitted aloud as his eyes went back to Gina's. "I don't give a fuck if you don't. I don't care what you do to me." A tear ran down one of his eyes, fearing her response to his earnest and desperate revelation. " _Te quiero._ "

Gina stared down at him for a long moment. The gun slowly went back where she had pulled it. Her expression did not change.

She then dropped down upon him and pressed her lips against Manuel's, kissing him deeply.

Manny tried wrapping his arms around her, but Gina grabbed his wrists and held them down against the ground as the stronger, tattooed young student continued kissing him.

Her lips then went to one of his ears, whispering words that preceded her releasing him once again, and leaving him to fend for himself.

"Prove it, _novio_." Gina tenderly hissed. "Kill for me."

* * *

Walter Abilene had the others guard the area while he followed Shuya Nanahara to an area where they could talk. When Shuya noticed Walter's limping, he stepped over to help him steady himself.

Every word passed between them in the conversation that followed was in the Japanese tongue.

"You actually want to talk. That's a promising sign." Walter began as he settled himself upon a fallen log. "Everyone out there thinks you're going to kill us all."

Shuya fixed his eyes on Walter. "Do you?"

"No." Walter replied. "And I'm not the only one who believes that."

"Your friends at the Workshop shouldn't talk so much." Shuya noted. "There are microphones in these collars. They can hear everything we say, and they have someone among them who speaks my language as well."

Walter nodded thoughtfully. "What would you suggest we do, now that they know about the rebel faction?"

Shuya shrugged. "You could set a trap."

Walter frowned curiously. "A trap? You mean…for the Captain and…those soldiers?"

Shuya nodded. "They can hear you, but they can't see you. They can only see moving numbers on their monitors. If a number disappears, it goes on the death lists they read."

Walter, however, was already trying to form the foundations of a plan. "So…we use what they already know, and…we lure them in? Give false information?"

"That might work." Shuya answered. "But then, I do not know these people as well as you do."

"Not everyone will want in on the plan, I know." Walter noted. "There are a couple of girls out there who are playing to win. They've already killed people."

Shuya nodded. "Tell me about them."

"The first girl who left the classroom. The blonde." Walter began, provoking a nod of acknowledgement from Shuya. "That's Gloria Angel. Religious nut. She uses God…and her looks…to get away with murder or worse. Then there's the military girl. She's the daughter of the person in charge of the soldiers. Her name's Emma Curahee. You should stay away from her, too."

"Do you believe in God?" Shuya asked.

"Well…not really." Walter responded. "I don't have anything against religion in general, but I try to stay away from people like Gloria who use it to their advantage. She probably thinks that no matter what she does, she'll be forgiven. Even when she kills people."

Shuya just nodded, looking thoughtful as he gazed into the clear morning sky.

"How many people died after the first day of your first Battle Royale?" Walter then asked.

"Twelve." Shuya answered, after a moment of thought. "Two more than _this_ program's first day."

Walter nodded. "Lucky us, I guess…but that won't matter if we last through tomorrow. Heck, we'll probably set a record for the most people dying at the end of day three."

"You're all afraid to die." Shuya observed. "That's not good."

"We're not exactly Samurai warriors, Shuya." Walter shot back.

"I never said you had to be." Shuya countered. "But Walter…everybody dies. You should not be afraid of it."

Walter sighed in his frustration, hanging his head back. "I'm not afraid. I just wanna get off of this fucking island. I hate that we have to be here. I hate that we have to do this."

"Don't we all?" Shuya mused.

Walter then turned his head to Shuya with a somewhat accusing expression. "And I don't want to become _you._ "

Shuya stepped up to Walter with an unsettling smirk on his face. It was clear that this statement bothered the young freedom fighter. He spoke his response right into Walter's face. "I am trying to _stop_ this. I want to try and help _you_ stop this. But I saw the faces of your friends as I left the classroom. They are all scared of me, because your government, full of adults, tells them I am…what is the word? A _terrorist._ "

"Shuya…you blew up buildings in Japan." Walter reminded. "Innocent people were in those buildings. Not just the government people you wanted to go after. A lot of them may not have cared for Japan's politics. All they wanted to do was to keep doing their jobs and get their paycheck at the end of the week. Are you going to judge them, too?"

Shuya remained accusingly close to Walter's face. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is when good men do nothing'?"

Walter remained quiet, stunned by the statement. He knew Shuya was quoting Edmund Blake. He remembered hearing it in one of his History classes.

"That is why I will not shed any tears for your 'innocent people'." Shuya slowly stepped away, but then turned back to the young american. "And yes, I know there were younger people in those buildings, too. I look at it this way. I was saving them from what their government might force them to do when _they_ go to middle school." The freedom fighter then settled himself on a large, nearby rock. "So what am I trying to tell you, you might ask? Do you want to know?"

A moment of silence followed, which was broken by Walter's words. "I'm listening."

Again, Shuya approached Walter, coming very close to him. "If you want to survive…if you want to fight…in this world your adult governments have given you? The governments you are all convinced you are unable to do anything about? You _have_ to become me! What is the alternative? Kill yourself. Commit suicide. Use whatever weapon they've given you on yourself!"

Walter dug into his survival pack until his fingers found the laser pointer he was given, and he pulled it out. "As you can see," He sarcastically remarked. "I got _super_ lucky."

Shuya, however, pulled out his Machine Pistol, and spun it until he could grab the barrel. He then held it up, effectively offering it to Walter. "So did I. They gave me a _water pistol_. I had to kill someone to get this."

Walter swallowed hard, glancing down at the offered weapon. "Why don't you shoot me with it, then?"

A smile slowly formed on Shuya's lips as he stepped away, and stowed his weapon. He then raised an index finger towards Walter as he spoke. "Because you are just…like…me."

" _Bullshit!_ " Walter angrily shot back.

"I was just an ordinary student in Shiroiwa Middle School." Shuya soberly explained as he brought his arm down. "Even as our world was going to shit, all I ever wanted to do before, and after, my dad hung himself was to live a good life. Nobu taught me how to play the guitar. I figured I could become a musician, like Bruce Springsteen. I never fired a single fucking gun in my whole life before they brought us to that island. I was forced to watch Nobu die when Mr. Kitano blew up his collar. And for what? Because he wanted to live? Because he wanted to have fun with his friends? Even if he hated school? Even if he cut Mr. Kitano with a knife? They took Nobu away from me, and from Noriko, a girl he loved. I protected her…fought for her...because I made a promise after Nobu died. I promised to keep her safe. She thought, as you did, about your 'innocent people'. About how they didn't deserve to die. I asked Mimura's Uncle, because I felt as you did, and he told me that quote and said that it was all the justification he needed. Good people could have tried to stop the passing of the BR Act in my country. They _didn't_ , and now thirty-nine or forty middle school kids die in my country every single fucking year because _good men did nothing._ NOTHING. Whether they were cowards, or they just conveniently turned a blind eye to the consequences, they did NOTHING!" He then raised his index finger, accusingly, towards Walter again. "And now, the same thing is happening to you and your own friends. It was their goddamn game…their 'Battle Royale'…that made me who I am now, and if you have any sense at all, you'll let the same thing happen to you, and to whoever else can get off of this island."

Walter lowered his head and kept silent after Shuya finished speaking, attempting to absorb and understand his words. He could not dispute any of it. Similarities between Shuya and him did indeed exist.

Shuya, once again, broke the long moment of silence. "Do you know what they gave me for a weapon?" The Japanese freedom fighter asked. "A pot lid. Noriko got a pair of binoculars."

"How did you survive?" Walter asked, bringing his head back up.

"We made a friend. His name was Shogo. Shogo Kawada." Shuya replied. "He was the survivor of a Battle Royale. They brought him, and a deranged psychopath, into the game to 'make things more interesting'. He helped us avenge Nobu's death, and he got us away from the island by boat, but he died while we were at sea."

"And Noriko?" Walter next inquired. "Where is she?"

Shuya lowered his head. "I wish I knew." After taking a deep breath, he brought his head back up. "I don't want to kill you, and I don't want to kill anyone who does not want to play this fucking game. If you have questions about BR, I will try to answer them. If you want ideas, I am willing to share them."

A smile finally began to manifest on Walter's lips. "I was _hoping_ you would say that."

* * *

As Captain Curahee continued to listen to the veritable gibberish Walter and Shuya were uttering, he sighed in complete frustration, angrily slapping the back of an unoccupied chair as they continued speaking in the Japanese language.

"Sneaky bastards…" The Captain griped. "…can't understand a word they're saying."

"I heard them mention your daughter, sir." One of the soldiers at the monitoring console offered.

"Context, Private. CONTEXT!" Curahee yelled. "We need to know the fucking context! For all we know, they could be talking about television shows!"

"Couldn't we record what they're saying and have it sent to be translated?" Another Private offered.

"That won't work." The Captain answered. "By the time they're finished translating the whole conversation, the game's gonna be over. That would have been possible if they had this friggin' discussion of theirs _yesterday!_ "

"Begging your pardon, sir..." Another Private manning the consoles carefully added. "…but, isn't this why we have Mrs. Emerson with us?"

"You're a very astute man, Private…" Curahee sarcastically noted as he turned to face this particular Private. "…but Mrs. Emerson is still upstairs, powdering her brain."

Sighing fretfully, he glanced at the monitors, looking for his daughter's number…

…and found that she was steadily moving towards the pink number 13, which was currently stationary.

* * *

Emma Curahee stayed low as she slowly approached the pig-tailed girl who was apparently engrossed in some manner of personal business that had her full attention. She figured a quick snap of the girl's neck would allow her to save ammo.

But as she got closer, she saw a familiar-looking plush toy. This stopped her advance, realizing this was someone she quietly envied.

It was Molly Pulaski.

Emma rose up, and approached in a more casual manner. One of her hands went to the handle of her Uzi, in case Molly drew a weapon unexpectedly.

But when Molly finally noticed Emma, she only gasped in her surprise.

Emma had her hands raised. She couldn't take out Molly. Not like this. Especially if she still had her plush toy with her. She instead resolved to wait until the next day, at the very least.

For now, Emma was too curious as to what Molly was doing, sitting in the middle of a battle zone, apparently lost in one of her imaginary worlds.

"Relax, kid." Emma began. "It's only me. What're you up to?"

Molly sounded shy as she spoke. "Playing with my play-doh."

When Emma came close enough, she saw that Molly was indeed molding something in her hands, but while she expected to see a brightly-colored glob of clay, the yielding material that was in the girl's hands was a very familiar shade of gray.

Emma frowned as her eyes widened. "Where…did you get that?"

"It was in the bag they gave me." Molly replied. "I thought they would give me something scary, like a gun."

Emma looked a little more wary now, judging by the nature of the clay in Molly's hands. "Can I…see…what's in that bag they gave you, Molly? I promise, I'll give it right back."

Molly glanced curiously to her plush toy doll, and then reached over to grab the Survival Pack, holding it out towards Emma, who carefully took it. Rummaging through it, she found the elements…and a page upon which instructions were written…that confirmed her suspicions.

Emma found a remote detonator, and a group of sticks that looked like a new technology she knew the military was experimenting with: wireless receiver sticks, capable of picking up a signal.

Molly's 'play-doh' was actually plastique!

"Molly…" Emma placed the bag down on the ground. "…may I see your…your play-doh?"

The pig-tailed girl shook her head. "It's mine. They gave it to me, so I'm playing with it."

"You _shouldn't_ be." Emma warily remarked. "That isn't play-doh, Molly. It's _plastic explosive_. They use that stuff to make bombs. I don't want to see you get hurt."

As Emma spoke, she figured that she could use the explosive…once she got it away from Molly…to take out everyone in the Workshop area. She knew that they might be plotting to kill her father and his soldiers. She had to prevent that.

Molly frowned. "This isn't a bomb! It's play-doh! I know play-doh when I see it!"

Emma crouched down to Molly's bag as she spoke, grabbing the instruction page, and came back up, holding the page out to her. "Didn't you _read_ this? It clearly says that what you've got in your hands is plastique!"

Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the air from afar, and the shot whizzed past Emma's head!

The shouted words came from Gloria Angel. "GET AWAY FROM THAT GIRL, HEATHEN!"

Another shot rang out…and this one managed to graze Emma's head, forcing her to drop the instruction page. She yelped from the sting of the wound. Enraged, Emma fired a burst from her Uzi in Gloria's direction.

As Emma fired, Molly was quick to scoop up the page and her bag, and to flee from the area. Emma considered chasing after her, but another shot from Gloria nearly grazed her head once again!

She ultimately chose to try and chase Gloria, dashing away from the area.

Having found a good hiding space, Molly watched Emma take off in the direction of the voice they both heard, and the sounds of the flora and fauna of the surrounding forest resumed.

By that time, Molly's eyes were on the instruction page she had initially ignored upon discovering the 'play-doh', and she began to study it, finally absorbing the words that would teach the pig-tailed girl how to more properly use her weapon.

* * *

Deidre Vandervelde had found another small, empty residence on the island, similar to the place Natalie Cross had acquired(although this one did not have a basement level). She hadn't eaten for awhile, and while she had considered starving herself to death, she had a better idea.

But it required making the food she had found in the residence, which was a box full of packets necessary to create a bowl of chicken soup.

Having discovered a bowl in one of the cabinets near the burner, she had pulled the bowl and a spoon out, preparing it for the moment when she knew the soup was ready. She just stood in front of the pot she had poured the mix into, and waited, staring blankly at the pot as it heated up.

Lingering on Deidre's mind, as always, were memories of her good times with Adele Nurmi.

Finding the residence reminded her of the days…and nights…in which Deidre shared in Adele's explorational experiences around various local towns(which they called 'running away together'), and those more frequent times when the two of them visited, and wandered around in, local cemeteries.

She even remembered making love with Adele in one of those cemeteries. Even as it rained, they remained in the cemetery area, passionately kissing each other even as they were both being drenched by the torrential downpour.

The smell of the bubbling soup diverted Deidre's attention, and figuring the soup was ready, she lifted the pot and poured the combination of steaming, delicious-smelling yellow liquid, noodles, and chicken bits into the bowl.

As the simple residence had a table and three chairs, she brought the bowl over to the table and went into her Survival Pack, opening a small vial. She then poured the contents of this vial into the soup, mixing it in.

The front door of the residence, which Deidre had closed behind her after she had entered, suddenly exploded inward as the goth girl had lifted a spoonful of the steaming hot soup. The spoon shed a few drops as she stared into the eyes of Gina Salazar, who held her Glock pistol in her right hand as she walked in, keeping her eyes on Deidre.

In the next moment, they just stared at each other, perhaps wondering who would react first following the sudden intrusion.

Deidre then smiled, offering the spoonful of her food to Gina, who smiled…

…and then lifted her gun, firing a shot which blasted through Deidre's forehead, ending the goth girl's life.

" _Vaya con dios_ , freak." Gina mused as she walked over to the soup, feeling hungry. Pulling the spoon from Deidre's dead hand, she scooped up a spoonful of the soup and deposited it into her open mouth.

Reacting positively to the soup, she shoved Deidre's lifeless body out of the seat and scooped up another spoonful of the soup, gulping it down while chewing on the chicken pieces.

But before Gina could swallow another spoonful of the soup, she felt a constricting sensation at her throat. In the next moment, she found it increasingly difficult to breathe as her overall complexion reddened.

Gina's eyes boggled in her extreme shock as she continued to try and inhale, but she could neither inhale, nor exhale, as muscle spasms caused her body to violently convulse. Grasping her own throat, she spilled to the ground, the wobbling bowl making a mess on the table, as she continued to convulse and choke…

…until her body, following three more vicious spasms, stopped moving. Her eyes remained wide open, locked in her terrified expression.

Rolling next to Gina's head, having fallen from the table from all of the dying girl's spasms, was the empty glass vial that contained the powder…Deidre's weapon…which the executed goth girl had mixed into the soup.

The label on the vial read "POISON: KCN".

 **Girl #17 Vandervelde - dead  
** **Girl #15 Salazar – dead  
** **28 to go**

* * *

Anaya Mukherjee carefully approached the residence where she had heard the gunshot, and the terrible asphyxiating noises. She held out her stun gun defensively.

Anaya had considered going in when she initially discovered it, but the sounds of bubbling water…and the smell of chicken soup, alluring as it was…compelled her to keep out of sight for fear that it might be someone who had a firearm. Someone who could kill her in one shot.

But the next five minutes passed in complete silence, save for the sounds of more gunshots from afar. A gunshot, followed by a burst from a machine gun, and then another gunshot.

Despite her evident fear, Anaya carefully stepped through the open door of the residential installation…and her eyes widened over what she saw.

Two dead bodies, one of them being one of what she called the 'scary girls' of her homeroom class. Blood spilled from a bullet hole in her forehead, just above her other girl…tattooed, tough, and now terminated…was laying on the floor, her face frozen in an expression of horror. Her pupils and irises were frozen by her upper eyelids, and her mouth was agape. Flies were already buzzing curiously near the open mouth.

The spilled chicken soup on the table was also gathering flies…but some of those flies were dead, and lying within the soup's remnants.

Anaya swallowed hard as her horrified gaze lingered. It was clearly the kind of scene that would easily haunt her nightmares, if she managed to make it off of the island. It got to the point where she needed to look away to keep from feeling nauseous.

But then, her eyes fell upon something that was near Gina's body: a Glock pistol.

Adjusting her burqa, she reached over to pick up the pistol…but the intimidating loading sound of a shotgun being pumped behind her forced her to spin around, holding out her stun gun.

"Get away from that gun." Kevin Mintner warned.

But the gymnastics-savvy student suddenly tumbled towards the gun, and in the process, easily dodged the loud shotgun blast that followed.

As he only had one shell in the shotgun, he tossed the weapon aside and dived onto Anaya, who failed to reach the grounded gun in time. Kevin immediately put his hands on the Indian girl's throat and began to squeeze.

The constriction made it very difficult for Anaya to breathe, but she was able to bring a hand over to where she had her stun gun. Pulling it out, she defiantly pressed the weapon to Kevin's chest and pressed down, hard, on the activation button.

From then on, it was a matter of the girl holding out while her stun gun continued to fire its voltage through the larger man's body. The grip on Anaya's neck squeezed tighter, and she feared that her neck was about to snap as Kevin's body began to tremble violently.

Just as she feared that she was about to gasp her last breath, the grip on her throat finally began to go loose. She kept the stun gun at his breast, maintaining the charge. In the next moment, Kevin's eyes shot open, and white foam began to emerge from his mouth, dripping down onto Anaya as he was gripped by cardiac arrest.

When Anaya was finally able to shove his body off of him, she scrambled for the Glock, pointed it at the top of Kevin's head, and pulled the trigger. His body locked from the sudden bullet to his brain, and then went slack as his life permanently faded from his wide open eyes.

Anaya was still quaking with fear as she rose up from the ground, still pointing the gun towards Kevin's bleeding head. Her eyes boggled as she maintained her aim on the now dead athlete.

Once she was sure that Kevin would not suddenly rise from the dead, she began going through the Survival Packs of all three dead students, procuring the fresh ammo clips from Gina's pack, and the box of remaining shotgun shells from Kevin's. She then stowed the Glock and went over to collect the fallen shotgun as well, slinging it across her body before leaving the residential area that was now full of the day's first three kills.

 **Girl #10 – Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"Your weapons…you will  
** **not need them(anymore)."  
** **Collect more than one firearm-class  
** **weapon from dead students**

 **Boy #12 Mintner – dead  
** **27 to go**

* * *

Once the Japanese gibberish had silenced, Captain Curahee angrily stamped back up the stairs to the school's second floor, expecting to find Cassandra Emerson passed out somewhere in the room.

When he appeared in the open doorway to the classroom Cassandra occupied, he saw Cassandra sitting at the teacher's desk, her crossed legs propped casually upon it as she looked through the contents of a file. She looked surprisingly lucid as she perused a written file.

When her peripheral vision caught sight of the Captain, she turned her head to him and flashed a smile. "Hi, Georgie."

Curahee frowned in his unpleasant surprise. "How long have you been…?"

"Apparently, Shuya's girlfriend had aspirations to become a teacher." Cassandra observed as she turned her eyes back to the file page. "Just like me. Literate girl, too. Good at writing essays." She turned her head back to the Captain. "How convenient that this is a classified file. Wouldn't want anyone to know that one of the world's most wanted criminals is actually a saint with no blood on her hands. Alexander Solzhenitsyn would sympathize."

"Like you would actually give a shit." Curahee shot back.

"I grant you that I've lost faith in most of the world's schoolkids, Captain." Cassandra thoughtfully remarked. "But if I had a classroom full of Noriko Nakagawas, I'd actually enjoy my work."

"Yeah, well…it's nice of you to make such observations while me and my men were listening to her boyfriend chat with Boy #1." The Captain griped. "We couldn't understand a word they were saying because they were speaking a language that you could have translated for us."

"Boy #1…that's Walter, right?" Cassandra recollected. "The son of the american ambassador to Japan? I wondered what would happen if he met Shuya."

Curahee slammed a hand down on the desk angrily. "They could have been plotting _against_ us, goddamn it!"

"George…we have all of these little bastards by their balls and their twats." Cassandra reasoned as she rose to her feet, her eyes locked on the Captain as she spoke. "They all step out of line, we flick a master switch, and their numbers disappear. If they try to raid the school, we'll just turn it into a Danger Zone and watch them all run for the hills. We have them all shackled to a computer that is under our complete control, Georgie, and since we've made sure that there isn't a single laptop anywhere on the island, they can't hack us the way that Mimura boy did during the Shiroiwa BR. Do I also need to remind you that we've made Danger Zones out of your 'bivouacs'?"

It was clear, by Curahee's expression, that he was fuming, but he remained silent as he tried to think of a response.

"Is your daughter still alive?" Cassandra suddenly asked.

"Yes." Curahee growled.

"And you're confident she won't turn against the game? Last I heard, she's been gleefully hunting the others."

"You nearly killed her, too." The Captain grimly reminded.

Cassandra shrugged impishly. "Oops."

Curahee's right hand quickly grabbed the educator's shirt and pulled her face close to his. "You fuck with my daughter again, and I swear to God, I will _end_ you."

The woman's expression was initially unpleasant, but she then flashed an amused grin. "Everybody dies." She then pressed her gun against the side of his chest. "Even you."

After a tense moment of silence, the Captain angrily shoved her away. He then leveled an index finger at her as he backtracked towards the classroom door. "Don't tempt me, you coke-faced bitch."

"I love you too, sweetheart." Cassandra defiantly and amusedly replied.

Curahee ignored the sarcastic retort, stepping out of the classroom, and then disappearing down the steps to the first floor. Shaking her head as she sighed, she stowed her gun away. She then settled back down into the seat at the teacher's desk, propped her feet back up, and continued reading Noriko's file.

* * *

As Shuya Nanahara continued his Japanese-language conversation with Walter Abilene, the students who were with them…Malcolm Derricks, Mike Zimmer, Vladis Jellinek, Moriah Houk, Krystal Riley, Martin Norris, Valerie Chung, and Annabeth Grant…either stood or sat around idly as they waited for them to finish. Those who had distrust of Shuya were a bit tense, as they had expected to hear gunfire to serve as proof that the Butcher of Tokyo could not be trusted.

Martin noticed that Moriah had her feather-decorated Hand Axe out, and she was shaving at a knife-sized tree branch, apparently creating a spike. His gaze lingered curiously on her work.

"Backup weapons?" Martin surmised aloud.

Moriah kept her eyes on the spike she was creating as she generalized her answer in one word. "Trap."

In that long moment of silence, Mike Zimmer could not stop glancing at Krystal Riley. Every time she caught him staring, and turned to look back at him, he quickly averted his eyes, trying to look as casual as possible. Malcolm tried on Vladis's helmet, sampling the night optics. Moriah kept working on her wooden spikes as Martin Norris's gaze went between her spikes and the area where Walter and Shuya were speaking. Valerie was engaging in idle chatter with her good friend, Annabeth, as the latter kept watch on the surrounding area, her hands gripping the weapon Moriah had given her.

As Zimmer's attention was diverted to his altered, and now a bit more lethal-looking, Pot Lid, Krystal's recognizably high-pitched voice…now in close range…startled him.

"Hi, Mike." Krystal began, stepping in closer. "Is that your weapon?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." He held it out to her. "Careful…the edges are sharp."

Krystal lightly touched the sharpened edges. "Wow…nice." She then attempted a bit of mirth. "I don't think we should be playing Frisbee with this."

Mike chuckled in amusement. "No…not advisable."

"So I heard you were the first one to talk to the jap." Krystal then remarked, gesturing towards where Walter and Shuya were speaking after handing the Pot Lid back to Mike. "He didn't hurt you?"

"No! He didn't." Mike confirmed. "Well, I…I thought he was gonna kill me at first. I was really hungry. He caught me trying to get one of the Survival Packs he had on him. All I wanted was some food. He even spoke a few words of English to me. Told me he wanted to help us."

"I dunno…" Krystal replied skeptically. "…I still think he's waiting for the right time to kill us all. Like…commit suicide by strapping a big bomb to himself, or something. He could be a modern-day kamikaze. Y'know…like Pearl Harbor?"

Mike shook his head emphatically. "He's not like that at all."

"Are you sure?" Krystal shot back. "He was hiding with the towel-heads before he was caught, you know. They could have taught him a thing or two about suicide bombing."

"Krystal…he's cool. Believe me." Mike assured. "He had all the chances in the world to kill me. He didn't."

The unnatural blonde shrugged, still feeling skeptical. "If you say so. If you ask me, I wouldn't trust _any_ jap. Not even Violet Noda. Did you see the movie _Pearl Harbor_? Remember that scene where the jap spies in America were taking notes as they walked around the battleships?"

Mike shook his head again. "A film like that isn't historically accurate, Krystal."

Krystal looked surprised. "It wasn't? Are you sure?"

The uneasy vibe was not much different between Martin Norris and Moriah Houk. Norris was beginning to look impatient as he paced around, becoming a little more concerned about Walter's meeting compared to Moriah's 'trap' project.

"I think we should go take a peek." Martin suggested.

"No." Moriah firmly replied, briefly diverting her attention from the spike she was sharpening. "Leave them alone. Let them talk."

" _If_ they're still talking." Martin warily noted. "For all we know, Shuya probably sliced Walt's throat open and stepped away quietly. If that's the case, he's probably gonna try to pick us off one by one."

Moriah raised an eyebrow. "With a Machine Pistol? It doesn't even have a Silencer, dummy! What's Shuya gonna cut Walt's throat open with?"

Martin shrugged irritably. "I don't know! The guy's a guerilla fighter! People like that get inventive when it comes to killing people! We could be dealing with the…fuckin'…MacGyver of terrorists, man! I would think with you being a native american, you wouldn't be trusting someone like Shuya so easily!"

Moriah's eyes went wide. "Where do you get the idea that I shouldn't trust Shuya just because I'm a native american? How does my being a native american factor into this discussion in the first place?"

"Well, you know…" Martin continued to shrug during his line of reasoning. "…the whole 'steal your lands' thing…Thanksgiving…pilgrims…"

Moriah sighed out heavily. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Martin…"

But before Moriah could finish, they saw Walter limping back towards them. He was alone, and there were no fresh injuries anywhere on his body. Moriah quickly stored away the wooden spike and then hurried over to help him along as he walked.

"Where's Shuya?" was Martin's first and most obvious question.

"I'll explain at the Workshop." Walter replied. "Let's gather up everyone and head over there."

* * *

Emma Curahee, who had settled herself upon a large rock partially embedded in the damp soil beneath her, winced with the sting of the bullet graze as she touched the wound at the side of her head. It was the closest thing to a bullet injury that had ever been inflicted upon her, and she never imagined that a mere graze would hurt at all.

Tearing off a long fragment of her white shirt, she moistened it with one of her water bottles and placed it against the graze. As the sting lingered, her eyes caught sight of a spent bullet casing.

She kept staring at the casing as her mind drifted to a past memory that stuck with her, but she was never able to figure out if she had wanted to try and let go of it.

For the moment, she deemed it to be worth revisiting as the sting at her head lingered.

* * *

 _Little Emma's day at elementary school was particularly pleasant, given the good grades she had earned for herself following an important test._

 _It was when she came home, however, that the mood quickly soured, as it had more than twice…and even thrice…before._

 _Emma had come home to hear her parents arguing once again. While she had overheard shouting matches before, however, this particularly bad spat was accompanied by the sound of a vicious strike, and the sound of her mother yelping from the blow._

 _Hearing her father angrily command her crying mother to get up filled Emma's eyes with tears as she quietly and fearfully ascended the staircase of their house to the second floor, where the open door of her room awaited._

 _She could hear the yelling on the floor below her get worse, and this was one of the few occasions in which Emma found solace clutching her plush teddy bear, which was dressed in a green army outfit. She held the soft, ursine toy close to her, hoping for the madness below to stop._

 _But another five minutes of shouting, and another howl of pain from her mother, added to Emma's lingering sorrow. After the heavy slam of the front door, accompanied by the sound of broken glass, the house was finally silent._

 _Although Emma never asked why her parents were always fighting, and this at the request of both of them on separate, private occasions, there were times when the reasons were obvious, even at Emma's young age. Sometimes, all it took was a bottle of her dad's favorite beverage, and the wrong words(and often times, it was just wrong words), to set him off in a particularly brutal fashion._

 _About ten minutes later, Emma heard the thumping of footsteps upon the stairs outside. As the room was otherwise quiet, the intimidated young girl could hear her father's voice murmur "Fucking women…" in a low growl._

 _The footsteps stopped in front of the closed door to Emma's room, and she heard a gentle knock on the door._

 _"It's me, honey." Her father calmly remarked._

 _As she knew he hated…and even, on one occasion, got furious…seeing her daughter weep, Emma was quick to wipe away her tears and regain her composure, although she couldn't help but betray a sniffle before making her response._

 _"Come in." She finally replied, trying not to sound sad._

 _Her father's skin was moist with sweat, and his face looked a bit red as he opened the door and stepped into her daughter's room to see Emma sitting up on her bed with her teddy bear in her arms._

 _George's expression was neutral as he pulled over the single chair in the room that was by her desk. He was quiet for a long moment as he lowered his head, no doubt trying to think of the right words to say._

 _"Emma…" he finally began. "…I…don't think things are gonna work out anymore between your mother and I. It's…like…apples and oranges with us."_

 _"Where's mommy…?" Emma emotionlessly asked._

 _It took a moment for George to answer. "Your mom…uh…went to get some air. We…um, well…" He paused for a moment to rub at his eyes before resuming. "…it's just…bad, honey. I…I don't think we'll be able to…" Another long moment of silence as George hung his head low._

 _Emma struggled to keep more tears from flowing as her eyes remained on her father._

 _When George brought his head back up, they fell upon the plush teddy bear Emma was holding. "Least you've got a friend to keep you company." He gestured to the bear as he spoke. "I remember the day I got that for you, and…and I remember the look on your face when you opened that present and saw him for the first time. What was the name you gave him?"_

 _A slight smile now crept onto Emma's lips. "Sergeant Brock."_

 _"That's right. Sergeant Brock." George smiled now, his eyes finding the accompanying insignia on the right shoulder of the teddy bear's green uniform. He gestured to it. "He's got the stripes for it, too. Second I saw that, I thought of you, honey. I knew you'd love it, and you did."_

 _Emma slowly nodded in acknowledgement._

 _Her father rose up from the chair, however, and stepped over to gently pull Sgt. Brock away from his daughter, seeing as how it was time to share the reason for his current visit. He seated the bear on the chair and then turned back to Emma. "Where's your little suitcase, honey? You know…the one you used when we went on that vacation to Virginia last year?"_

 _Emma's smile melted to one of confusion. "Why?"_

 _"You'll see." George answered. "Where is it?"_

 _Emma gestured directly below her. "It's under the bed."_

 _George nodded, then lowered to a knee to reach down and pull the empty case out by the handle. He then stepped over to an open space in the room and placed the suitcase down. Pulling over a stool that was also in the room, he then pulled out a pistol that he had stowed behind him, extracted its ammo clip, and then placed the weapon upon the hard surface of the wooden stool after spinning the gun around his finger twice._

 _George then turned back to Emma. "I need you to make a choice, Emma, seeing as how things aren't gonna work out for your mother and I." He gestured to the gun. "If you pick that, it won't be the last time I will ever let you touch my weapons, because you're gonna stay here with me, and your life is gonna change. You're gonna be strong. No more kid gloves. I'll make a real soldier out of you, just like Sergeant Brock. Exercises every morning. You're gonna learn how to defend yourself. I'm gonna make you ready, willing, and able to be recruited into army service, because that's the kind of daughter I want to raise." He then gestured to the suitcase. "If you choose this, you're gonna go with your mom, and…well, you can do whatever it is that…you women do, but I don't ever wanna see your face around me again, and I think Sergeant Brock would be very, very ashamed of you."_

 _George then stepped aside to give his daughter a clear path to the two items she was being charged to pick. One symbolizing the nurturing love of her mother, the other indicative of the more disciplined and rigorous father._

 _"I'll understand if you need a moment to think on it." Her father noted. "But you have to make your choice right now. It can't wait until tomorrow. Just…touch one of them."_

 _What deeply bothered her as she slipped off the bed and began to slowly approach the two items was that she had reasons to love the both of them. Her mother was kind, funny, understanding, and an overall pleasant middle-aged woman. Her living, breathing security blanket against an often harsh world._

 _She loved her father, too, for the ever-constant reminders that she needed learn how to stand firm against the elements of that harsh world that often threatened to bring her to her knees in submission. He gave her the edge she had developed for herself. There were many things about the kind of girl she developed into that she appreciated her father for, and he was always fiercely protective of her. When an older man, after a Softball game, made lewd advances towards her when she was younger, it was her father who purchased a metal baseball bat just to find this older man…who Emma described with impressive accuracy…and to quite literally pound him down to a bloody pulp in front of several frightened witnesses._

 _His love and devotion to his daughter certainly didn't carry the more pleasant and nurturing approach that was typical of her mom, but he unquestionably loved her in his own way._

 _Now, however, she was being forced to choose between them. The balance was apparently shattered forever, and the worst part was that Emma had no clue as to why._

 _Emma's eyes went to the suitcase, and she stepped up to it. George's heart sank, but he had told her to touch one of them. Her arms remained at her sides._

 _She had an urge to at least reach out towards it. There wasn't a thing she could think of to justify a reason not to remain with her mother, a pediatrician who was born Vivian Van Owen before becoming George Curahee's wife._

 _But would Emma's father really just let her go? Just leave, to be with her mother for the rest of her life? After all the shouting matches she had overheard between her parents? Would Emma wind up with ugly and painful-looking discolorations, just like those her mother wore following those terrible arguments? Would he viciously retaliate, the way he did with a harmless male friend of hers he had struck for the apparent crime of kissing Emma on the forehead after benignly walking her home from school?_

 _It was these fears that ultimately brought her over to the gun, although her thoughts at the time were of wanting to shoot her father for forcing her to make such a decision._

 _Seeing his daughter pick up and grasp the handle of the gun…just the way he had once taught her when her mother wasn't around…brought George over to Emma to wrap her in a loving embrace. "It's OK…you did good…you won't regret this…" He kept repeating these sentiments as her father…who was in tears…maintained his embrace on his daughter._

 _He didn't see the expression of wide-eyed fear in her daughter's eyes as he gripped her._

 _She couldn't help but wonder what kind of monster she would become under her father._

* * *

Such were her thoughts at the time of her decision to remain with the Captain as Emma wiped away a tear that had trickled down from her right eye.

Although she had been punished, often physically, over moments of weakness during her father's upbringing, she came to respect him as the years passed. Emma knew that now. She owed her father a lot. The kid gloves were clearly off, and they never came back on.

Sergeant Brock, however, always awaited her return from school every day. She was particularly looking forward to seeing her precious teddy bear once again after returning from the island following the victory she was determined to achieve at all costs.

George Curahee had made a tough, badass soldier out of her daughter. Any hint of weakness was gone, replaced by a cold, hard determination to survive.

In this case, however, survival meant killing everyone. Even those she had deemed to be her friends. Even Molly Pulaski.

With her eyes on the map, and a decision made to establish a residence on the map as her new headquarters, she rose up from the rock and stalked away to continue her hunt.

* * *

Captain George Curahee kept her eyes upon the stationary pink #4 thoughtfully as it began to drift away from where it was.

He stepped away from the console, but a curiosity struck him that made him hesitate, and turn to one of the nearby soldiers. "What's the pool on my daughter up to?"

"Last I checked? Should be close to $500, sir." The masked soldier replied.

The Captain slowly nodded as he stepped away. "Good."

Casually, the Captain stepped back into the classroom where the collared students were gathered to be briefed. While the room was largely bare, and free of chairs and desks, one chair remained where it was, and it was in the very same spot that his daughter had placed it when she sat down, and patiently waited for the briefing video.

Placed upon the seat was Emma's plush teddy bear, Sergeant Brock.

A slight smile was on George's face as he looked down upon the plush toy. He couldn't wait to see the look on his victorious daughter's face when she saw that Brock was waiting for her on the island. She could already see the tears running down her face, which in his mind-bound vision would be stained with the blood of the other students she had eliminated. He even expected her to have fresh and lasting scars of varying severity to remind her of the soul-hardening, three-day experience for the rest of her life.

After lingering in the classroom…lost in his own thoughts of the past, which were not much different from Emma's…for about three minutes, the Captain stepped back outside the classroom, and as he began his return to the monitoring station, he saw one of his soldiers emerge from the bathroom.

Something about this particular soldier's appearance, however, struck the Captain as odd.

Something that was at his waist, and in the holster where his sidearm should be.

The Captain turned to this man, who he knew to be a Sergeant. "Just a minute, soldier."

The black-garbed man immediately stopped, and then turned attentively to his superior officer. "Sir."

Curahee stepped right up to him. "Name and rank."

"Kingston, sir." The masked soldier responded. "Sergeant Reggie Kingston."

As Kingston spoke, the Captain immediately grabbed the dark object in the Sergeant's holster and pulled it out with lightning-fast reflexes.

What Curahee now had in his hands was something that could certainly pass for a gun, but it was anything but. With the items the Sergeant had apparently collected, he had apparently arranged them to bear the approximate shape of a gun, and thus pass for one. The parts were held together with wrappings of black tape.

The Captain's eyes returned to Kingston with a more accusing stare now. "Where's your _real_ sidearm, Sergeant?" He warily asked.

Reggie was quiet for a brief moment before his nervous voice transmitted from beneath the mask. "I…must have…m-misplaced it, sir."

Curahee slowly nodded, his right hand pulling off Reggie's mask to reveal his nervous-looking eyes, which was the only feature of his face the balaclava he also wore revealed. "Have you…'misplaced'…anything else, Sergeant? Do you still have your blade?"

"Yes sir." Reggie immediately replied. "It's right where it's supposed to be, and as you can see, I still have my MP5."

An uneasy smile crept onto Curahee's lips. "I suppose that absolves you of your sin, then. Doesn't it, Sergeant?"

Reggie kept silent for a long moment. He couldn't respond. He knew any manner of fabrication would damn his soul further. It was clear the proverbial jig was up, and it would be time to face the music. He only had the forgiveness of the Lord to provide him with consolation following whatever consequences he was due to receive.

The smile remained on Curahee's lips as he surprisingly spoke the words that eased Reggie's concerns. "Carry on."

"Sir." Reggie replied. He turned away from the Captain…

…who drew his own sidearm and fired a single shot right into Reggie Kingston's back, blasting him down to the floor.

Turning Kingston's body face-up with his foot, Curahee then dropped to a knee in front of the badly-bleeding soldier, whose eyes boggled in his shock. He was obviously not expecting _this_ kind of punishment!

The Captain grabbed him by the suspenders of his uniform and pulled him close as his body continued to gush from the large, point-blank bullet wound. "I know you still have a few minutes of life left in you before you take your little trip to the almighty, so I'm gonna ask you again before you go…and bear in mind that I know enough about your spiritual calling to know that lies are the children of the devil, and I know you've pushed one of those out already. You can absolve yourself, though, by telling the truth. Now…where is your fucking sidearm, Kingston?"

Reggie's rasping voice was weak as he resolved to unburden himself of his fabrication, although his response was cryptically sly. "It's…it's in God's hands, s-sir…"

A look of surprise, laced with sarcasm, was on Curahee's face as he pulled his own sidearm. "Have you forgotten what I told you when you first came into my unit, Sergeant?" He placed the barrel of his gun under Kingston's chin. "If you serve under me, I _am_ God."

The bullet blasted through the top of Reggie's head, spilling blood and brains all over the floor, instantaneously ending the Sergeant's fading life as the gathered soldiers watched. Some of Kingston's blood splattered on Curahee's angry face as well.

Rising back to his feet, he angrily regarded the other soldiers as they stood at attention.

Curahee gestured down to the dead soldier at his feet as he spoke. "I see anyone else who is missing a weapon, and you're gonna end up just like _this_ bible-pushing freak. I shit you not! Now _get back to your fuckin' posts!_ "

Without another word, the soldiers returned to their pre-ordained jobs, while two of the soldiers stepped over and bent down to pull the body of the late Reggie Kingston away.

Watching from the nearby stairs, no one noticed Cassandra Emerson amusedly shaking her head as she went back up to the classroom she was lounging in.

* * *

Issac Meyer smiled as Walter Abilene, and all of his friends and companions, approached the Workshop. "I was hoping you would show up at some point, Mister Abilene. How is your leg?"

"Still hurts like hell, but…I'm sucking it up. Got painkillers in my bag, so…there's that." Walter replied as he continued to limp forward. "There's one other person who's with us, but…well, let's put it this way. He's not gonna be playing 'butcher of Tokyo' with us. Not after the conversation we had."

"Jesus…" Peter Ellis exclaimed. "…you actually talked to Shuya?"

"And lived!" Moriah Houk gingerly responded.

"Vill he help us?" Herman Krieger asked.

"We'll answer that later." Annabeth Grant answered. "For now, Walt's got a plan which you all need to hear."

Walter moved to a table in the workshop. He looked to Issac and gestured in the air as if he had a pen in his hand, writing invisible messages. Issac went into his personal pack and pulled a black marker, handing it to Walter.

Martin Norris frowned in confusion as he regarded Issac. "You always carry a black marker with you?"

"No, but someone who worked in this Workshop before the island was evacuated must have." Issac replied, shrugging. "I found it when we first investigated it."

Walter began writing on the solid gray surface of the table. He gestured to Issac to keep talking.

"Uh…so, you're the big contest winner, Misterrrr…Norris, was it?"

Martin nodded. "Yup. Didn't know the 'adventure' the magazine was referring to was an actual deathmatch, though."

"Heh…'Halo 2' for real." Peter amusedly observed.

"Minus the armor suits." Malcolm Derricks added.

"And the much better weapons." Vladis Jellinek mused.

"Say…" Peter began looking around curiously. "…where's Violet? I haven't seen her since the last watch we set up."

"I hope she didn't decide to do what I think she's been wanting to do." Issac warily answered. "Especially if we've confirmed that Mister Nanahara is an ally."

Walter loudly knocked on the table to get everyone's attention, and gestured to the marker-written message that he wrote. The group gathered around the table to the read the message as Walter began speaking.

 **No matter what I say,  
** **PLAY ALONG.**

 **Remember…they can  
** **HEAR** **us!**

"Okay…I had a _really_ interesting conversation with Shuya." Walter began. "Now it was because of his concerns about people like Violet that he didn't come with us, but he told me that his Wild Seven network has a _lot_ of connections. Even among those who are a part of the BR-USA program. Through him, they set up the means by which we can get the fuck off of this island."

"Define 'means'." Peter warily noted.

"Before Shuya planned the bombing of those buildings in Japan, he came across something he didn't expect to get his hands on when the Wild Seven got the explosive ordnance they needed." Walter explained. "They got MUF."

Valerie Chung frowned. "'MUF'? Uh…can you guess my next question?"

"It stands for 'Material Unaccounted For', Val." Walter replied. "The military uses that term to describe the raw material for, uh…nukes."

Issac's eyes were the first to widen. " _Nukes?_ As in…nuclear weapons?"

"You're fucking kidding me." Valerie exclaimed. "Shuya got his hands on _plutonium?_ "

"That's…kinda fucked up, man." Malcolm warily added. "I mean…no matter where we blow shit like that up, everyone on the whole damn island's gonna be screwed."

Vladis, however, shook his head. "Not if the plutonium yield is low enough. The fallout would be isolated to a small area."

"Exactly, Vladis." Walter remarked. "Shuya had his contacts on this island stash the MUF away."

"But…where did they stash it?" Mike Zimmer asked.

Walter banged a fist on the table, right in the central point of his own writing. "Right here. It's the 'X' on this little illustration I just drew on the table here. Mark your maps accordingly."

"Will do." Peter replied, as the others quietly nodded.

"We're gonna get that MUF out and see if we can put a bomb together with Shuya's help, since he knows about that kind of thing." Walter instructed. "If we can nuke that school, that should kill the signal to the collars, and we can finally get off of this goddamn island."

"We just have to figure out how we're gonna deliver it." Patrick Dane noted.

Valerie rummaged through her personal pack and pulled out a small notepad, within which she began writing out a message. Once it was fully written, she showed it to Walter with a questioning look on her face.

 **We're setting a  
** **trap for those  
** **soldiers, right?**

Walter nodded with an expression of grim determination. Valerie tore off the page with her question and wrote her reply…in big letters…on a fresh page, smiling as she turned the pad for Walter to see.

 **Cool!**

* * *

The blade of Lorenzo Trujillo's combat machete clanged loudly against one of the notches on the grounded Gloria Angel's Hunting Knife when she held it up in her attempt to block the downward slash.

They groaned quietly, obviously attempting to overpower each other, angrily flashing their gritted teeth as drops of sweat ran down their foreheads.

It was Gloria, however, who gained the advantage when her right foot slammed between Lorenzo's legs, painfully hitting him right in the crotch as he collapsed to the ground. Gloria quickly maneuvered herself over him and reared back her knife for the killing blow.

Lorenzo threw up his hands in restraint, however, his eyes wide. "Wait! Wait! Gloria! Just chill for a sec!"

Fortunately for the scared-looking male student, Gloria hesitated, lowering her knife arm, but keeping the decorated blade pointed threateningly at Lorenzo. "First you wanna kill me, now you wanna kiss me? You've got some nerve writing that message on the blackboard in Mr. Dunbar's class."

"Hey, whatever, man." Lorenzo kept his hands raised. "Look…I just wanna get one kill. Just one. Gimme that grace. I got a real bad feelin' about this guy."

Gloria frowned in confusion. "Which guy?"

"That…contest winner guy. Martin." Lorenzo explained. "I dunno…there's somethin' about him. Somethin' I really don't like. He's gotta go, and I wanna be the one to do him."

"Why does it have to be _you_ that kills him?" Gloria asked. "Assuming he's still alive?"

Lorenzo's hands fished beneath the collar of his shirt, and he pulled out a necklace upon which a small gold crucifix was attached, presenting it to Gloria. "Let's just say it's a spiritual responsibility." He buried the crucifix beneath his shirt again. "It is mine to avenge. I will repay. In due time, their foot will slip. Their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them."

Gloria raised an eyebrow, recognizing the words. Her blade lowered a bit. "Deuteronomy 32, 35."

A small smile was now on Lorenzo's lips. "You're not the only one in our class that goes to Church on Sunday, Gloria. I think Martin's with the others at the Workshop. I was on my way over there when you came by. You, uh…wanna come with? See how many of 'em we can take out?"

Gloria frowned. "Where do you go? What Church?"

Lorenzo shrugged. "Our Lady of the Cenacle. So…shall we?"

As her eyes lingered on the student in front of her, a past memory manifested. She knew there was something terribly familiar about this particular person.

With a morbid expression, Gloria lowered her blade, slipping it back in its sheath. "Let's go."

* * *

Cassandra Emerson casually walked into the monitoring room, flashing an impish grin as she approached Captain Curahee. "You bellowed, Mein Fuhrer?

The Captain, unamused, turned to her with his customary glower. "They're plotting sabotage. Plotting against _us._ "

Cassandra tilted her head in amusement. "Again?"

"One of them talked to Shuya." Curahee remarked angrily, through gritted teeth. "Apparently, there's a stash of fucking _plutonium_ here on the island. We overheard them talking about how they're gonna dig it out, and use it to blow up the school!"

The female educator frowned, looking mildly disturbed by this news. "And they didn't say where this stash is?"

"They drew up something on that Workshop table. I'm thinking it's a diagram, or a map. Something that would reveal where the MUF is." The Captain answered. "I figure we make a Danger Zone out of the shop so we can go in and check it out."

"How soon can you be ready to move in?" Cassandra asked. "We're about an hour away from the next report, you know."

"The information's still fresh. I have to get a team together." Curahee replied. "I'll be going in with them. You lay off that 'candy' of yours while I'm away. Don't fuck with me on that, Cass."

Cassandra raised a hand in her relent. "Yeah, yeah, fine. Go do your 'G.I. Joe' thing."

The Captain began barking out orders to gather in a classroom for a briefing, and several soldiers…many of them loading and checking their weapons…hurried over to receive their instructions.

* * *

As the students were finishing up their preparations, their collars suddenly came to life, threatening their lives with their building cacophany of ominous beeping.

This was more or less their signal to take their places for the ambush, according to Issac Meyer.

They scattered beyond the boundaries of the Workshop quickly. Once they had cleared the shop, their collars silenced, after which they quickly secured themselves behind hardpoints and within hiding places in the vicinity. Once Issac was where he had chosen to plant himself, he kept his eyes on the Workshop, and listened for the sound of approaching soldiers.

About 15 minutes later, the sounds they were expecting to hear manifested. Everyone remained out of sight as the detachment of black-garbed soldiers hurried towards the Workshop.

They all looked alert, and perhaps even a bit nervous, as they came close to the table where the 'diagram'…Walter's writing…was located. Those capable of observing the soldiers from their concealments were surprised to see the Captain himself among the men of the detachment.

Spotting the table, Curahee ordered two of his men to investigate, seeing that a large object had been placed there. Fortunately, the side of the object that the students did not want them to see right away remained out of view as they approached.

Issac prepared his loaded .45 Magnum Revolver. This was one shot he couldn't screw up, or the plan would fail.

The two soldiers were now investigating the object on the table. It was a large barrel of what smelled like kerosene. Looking behind it, they saw that a Grenade was resting next to it, which was also drenched in kerosene. Looking beneath it, they saw that the 'diagram' was actually a portion of Walter's written message.

"SIR!" One of the investigating soldiers yelled. "IT'S A TR…"

 _*BANG!*_

The object erupted in a huge fireball which ripped the two soldiers apart once Issac's bullet hit its mark.

Annabeth Grant was the first to expose herself with her stolen MP5 in her hands, taking advantage of the disorientation of the soldiers to begin firing a burst at three of them, with Issac similarly squeezing off shots from his pistol. The trio of black-garbed troopers dropped from the hail of bullets that had cut into them.

Another soldier pulled his own pistol and raised it up to fire at Annabeth Grant, but a vicious impact…and a burst of terrible pain…bit into his back, sending him to his knees. Pulling the axe back out, Valerie Chung continued to furiously cut into this unfortunate soldier.

Two other soldiers seeing Valerie hack away at their comrade began to raise their MP5s, but they were grabbed from behind by Patrick Dane and Herman Krieger, who subsequently wrestled them away and twisted their heads, fatally breaking both of their necks.

Margaret Turmell was in the midst of trying to find a hardpoint when she unexpectedly ran into a familiar-looking young girl with long, golden blond hair. "Gloria?"

The pious, beautiful student smiled, lifted her pistol, and fired one round into Margaret's head before rushing away.

Malcolm Derricks, Mike Zimmer, Vladis Jellinek, and Krystal Riley were wildly trying to avoid bullets from a couple of soldiers near their position. At one point, however, a live grenade one of them had thrown landed near Mike!

Krystal was able to spot it, and she shoved Mike clear before it detonated. The force of the blast smacked her head into a tree, knocking the blond student unconscious.

Another soldier managed to squeeze off a few of his own rounds toward Patrick Dane, and one of these bullets cut into Pat's thigh, forcing him to drop to a knee in terrible pain…

…but before this soldier could finish Pat off, the bite of a feather-decorated Hand Axe cut deep into his neck. His eyes boggled as his blood gushed forth from the fatal wound.

Seeing Hamid Ranganathan nearby, Moriah pulled the dying soldier's sidearm and tossed over towards the nervous student. "HAMID! GRAB THAT GUN!" She hollered.

Clearly hearing her words, Hamid quickly looked, and spotted, the offered weapon. He hurried towards it, reaching for the gun…

…but a hail of bullets blasted him away from it, stitching brutally into his body. His eyes boggled from the bullet impacts as his chest began to leak from the multiple wounds. His face remained frozen in his terrible shock at the moment of his passing.

After killing Hamid, the soldier…Curtis, from Bivouac Post #3…looked for another target, but he too was grabbed from behind. Burrowing into the side of his head in one vicious stab was the length of a Phillips Head Screwdriver.

Peter Ellis kept the tool buried into the soldier's head as the student growled vengefully. "Screw you, you motherfuckin' son of a…"

Both Peter and Curtis, however, were themselves shot up by four soldiers that moved in in the next moment. Their dying bodies dropped in the flames of the Workshop's wreckage, and they began to burn along with the rest of the key BR locale's remnants.

Dropping behind this quartet of soldiers, however, was a live grenade. Only one of them was able to turn and spot the object before it violently erupted, killing all four men.

Herman grimly smiled, seeing that his wounded friend's throwing arm could still be counted on, and he pulled Patrick away.

The Captain could see that his detachment was down to three men, himself included, although he saw dead students amid the carnage as well.

And when one of those two men suddenly dropped from a gunshot that landed right in his left eye, it was just him and the remaining soldier, who was now frantically looking for whoever it was that scored the eyeshot.

He began firing wildly, clearly fearing for his life…

…but a shot right between his eyes ended his fearful barrage of wasted bullets.

Captain Curahee went low. He knew he was next, and he was sure that the assailant was Shuya Nanahara. It HAD to be! He pulled his sidearm and began to slowly and carefully move.

The Captain was able to spot one of the students, who had a .45 Magnum Revolver in his right hand. He was advantageously facing away from the commanding officer, staring down at something, or perhaps someone. Was this the one who had just shot into the heads of the two soldiers that were with him, both of them family men? He discharged two rounds right into the white-shirted, buzz-cut young man's back and watched Issac Meyer drop to the ground, the two bullet holes already drenching the shirt with his own blood.

Shuya Nanahara suddenly stepped out, a few feet in front of the Captain, and just gazed upon him for a moment before hurrying away. This was enough to goad Curahee into taking off after him.

The Captain's bullets whizzed perilously close to Shuya's head as he ran. He couldn't stop for so much as a moment to turn and fire back with his Machine Pistol. He had the idea to goad one of the patrolling boats by the edge of the island into firing a burst which would instead strike the sadistic Captain.

But by the time he neared the edge of the island, none of the gunboats could be seen!

Curahee slowed to a halt behind Shuya, keeping his gun aimed at the butcher of Tokyo. Shuya slowly turned around, lifting his empty hands to the sides. The Captain had him dead-bang, and the anxious soldier…who now sported a sick grin…knew it.

"You killed my men, you jap bastard." Curahee clicked the hammer back on his gun. "Now it's _your_ turn." The next word out of his mouth was in japanese. " _Die!_ "

 _*BLAM!*_

Droplets of blood suddenly peppered Shuya's face as a point-blank bullet…fired from someone that came up behind Curahee…destroyed the Captain's brain.

When the commanding officer's dead body dropped to the ground, Anaya Mukherjee lowered the smoking Glock that was in her shaking hands.

Shuya raised his hands in restraint as he slowly approached the burqa-wearing student, who next trained her gun, fearfully, on the butcher of Tokyo. Although she was certainly capable of taking down Curahee's two soldiers as she did with her well-aimed headshots, she was hesitant to gun down the man they called the butcher of Tokyo.

As she stared into the Japanese man's eyes, the Glock lowered a little more. Her mother had told her when she was younger that someone could be judged by the look of their eyes. Shuya's gaze showed no evidence of malice, nor a need to kill.

The roar of a boat engine behind Shuya, however, sent the collared freedom fighter diving for cover as a gunboat sped upon the area! Anaya raised her gun back up, pointing at the boat's gunner…

…whose weapon was already firing, mercilessly cutting down Anaya before she could squeeze a single round off.

A multitude of bullets tore up the ground just behind Shuya, practically following him as he made his mad dash away from the edge of the island, moving as fast as he possibly could.

As the boat-bound soldier fired, however, a single shot…fired from a .45 Magnum…struck the gunner right in the head. The next shot took out the driver when he went for his own sidearm.

Moriah Houk lowered the smoking revolver as the boat spun around on top of the water for a bit before quietly sliding onto the island's shore.

Moriah hurried back towards the ruins of the Workshop, and found Walter and Annabeth kneeling next to someone who was lying on the ground.

When she was close enough, she discovered that this dying student was Issac Meyer. Near his body laid the corpse of Margaret Turmell.

Issac coughed up blood as he tried to speak. "I…I guess…this is…it…for me…"

Walter couldn't respond, as he was quietly sobbing as mournfully as Annabeth and Valerie, who had walked up to join them. Tears fell from Moriah's eyes, as well, as she lowered to a knee in front of their dying, bespectacled friend.

"No…" Issac shook his head. "…d-don't…grieve. I…I did…my part…we…we did good…" He grasped Walter's arm tightly, smiling through bloodstained teeth. "… _you_ did good…g-good…plan…"

Walter couldn't stop crying. He didn't want Issac to go. Not like this. "Issac…"

But the proudly jewish student shook his head. "No…no, no…it's good. I…I get t-to go…t-take…Miss Turmell…to a better place. Yes…happy…I…I'm happy…" A single tear ran down from the corner of Issac's eye as he stared up to the beautifully clear sky above him. "…we…we'll be…happy…"

The open-eyed face of Issac Meyer froze, looking genuinely contented as his consciousness faded.

"He never hated anyone." Walter noted through his sobs. "He…he always let people in…people who wouldn't…wouldn't judge him."

Moriah stepped over to Walter and presented him with the handle of Issac's .45 Revolver. "Take it."

Walter stared at the weapon for a long moment, wiping tears from his face. His first, unspoken instinct was to refuse it.

"He would have wanted you to have it." Moriah then added.

After another moment of thought, his right hand came up to grab the weapon. Annabeth fished through Issac's Survival Pack to get the pistol's unused ammo.

The surviving students remained with Issac's body for another mournful moment before rising up and stepping away from the nearby wreckage of the Workshop.

 **Boy #5 Ellis – dead  
** **Boy #11 Meyer – dead  
** **Boy #16 Ranganathan – dead  
** **Girl #10 Mukherjee – dead  
** **Girl #16 Turmell – dead** **  
**

 **22 to go**


	11. X: Day Two - The Second Report

**X: The Second Report**

 _"Shouldn't you be worried about your life, instead of that useless micropenis of yours?"_

 _\- Takako Chigusa, "Battle Royale"_

 **12:00 P.M.**

The gentle sounds of the "Flower Duet"…from the French opera _Lakme'_ …played over the loudspeakers at the stroke of high noon, serving as a grim reminder that despite the unexpected violence of the Workshop insurrection, the game was still on. Those who survived the battle dreaded hearing the voice of Mrs. Emerson, who would no doubt find the death manifest she was to read more appealing than the last.

Assuming she wasn't high on drugs, of course.

"It's about time you little shit-stains got busy!" Cassandra's voice gingerly began. "Hoooo boy, do we have a really BIG list to go with your lunch hour! Boy number 5, Peter Ellis, Boy number 11, Issac Meyer…shame, really. I lost money on that hebe. Oh well…"

The survivors of the insurrection found that admission particularly disgusting as they continued to listen.

"…uh, Boy number 12, Kevin Mintner, Boy number 16, Hamid Ranganathan…damn. Nice kid, I'll miss him…Girl number 10, Anaya Mukherjee, Girl number 13, Molly…wait, _Molly Pulaski?_ Hmm. Must have been a silent kill…Girl number 15, Gina Salazar, Girl number 16, Margaret Turmell, and Girl number 17, Deidre Vandervelde. _Nine. Nine kills!_ But that's nothing compared to the seriously naughty thing you little bastards had the audacity to pull on our fine soldiers. Bad news, Emma…your classmates? Not only did they sucker your Dad into going out to the Workshop with a bunch of men, but they _killed_ the poor bastard…and all of his men as well!"

Emma Curahee's eyes boggled in utter disbelief as she dropped to her knees. The news hit her like a freight train at full speed. It was as if time had literally stopped.

"The remaining handful of soldiers have a message for the rest of you. They see a weapon stolen from one of their comrades, they kill the student who holds it. I suspect that after the massacre at the now-defunct Workshop, they'll be changing the BR-USA rules accordingly next year. Seeing as how we're on day two of the program, BR-USA stipulations force me to add Danger Zones _every hour_ from now on! Get your maps out, kiddies, 'cause here's the current rundown…"

As Cassandra read them off, the students…save for Manuel Ortiz, who had fallen asleep in an area of the island that remained a safe zone after the newest unsafe ones were read...disgustedly marked their laminated maps accordingly. As Krystal Riley was unconscious, Mike Zimmer generously marked the new locations on her map as well as his own.

"We'll close things out with a quote from Herbert Hoover. Yup…ol' Hoobert Heever, our thirty-first President. 'Older men declare war, but it is the youth that must fight and die'. So let's oblige the ol' heever in the time you sappy fuckers have left! Buh-bye!"

Valerie sighed out distressfully, closing her eyes. "Jesus…"

"New Danger Zones every hour…" The dread in Annabeth's voice was entirely evident.

Moriah crouched in front of Walter. "What're we gonna do, boss?"

It took Walter a moment to speak, but he finally shared his thoughts. "We've gotta gather up everyone, and I mean _everyone._ Even Shuya, even those who are actually playing this game. We've gotta end this shit. Somehow."

"And if they'd rather kill us?" Valerie wondered aloud.

Walter sighed, finding his own answer difficult to believe. "We kill 'em first. They draw, we shoot. It's just a matter of figuring out who can be trusted, and who shouldn't be…and I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks. Shuya is one of the good guys."

"Agreed." Moriah confirmed. "I'd watch out for Emma Curahee, though. After her Dad's death, I'm sure she'll be out for blood."

"Gloria Angel, too." Valerie added. "And Billy Han. I'm not trusting that abusive fuck."

"Manny Ortiz…" Walter thought of other possibilities. "…Natalie? Hmmm…"

"You remember what Natty said before she left the classroom?" Annabeth reminded. "She threatened Mrs. Emerson and the Captain. We should recruit her."

Walter nodded. "I just hope I don't have to put up with those weird kinks of hers." He then looked around curiously. "Where are the others that were with us at the Workshop?"

Moriah shrugged. "Scattered, I guess."

* * *

"Shit." Patrick paced about irritably as he and Herman stopped to rest after fleeing the carnage at the Workshop, and to mark the new Danger Zones on their maps. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit!_ "

"Shhh! Not so loud!" Herman hissed.

Pat sighed out, trying to calm himself. After a moment, he shared his thoughts with his dutch friend. "Danger zones every fucking hour. We're gonna run out of room to operate at that rate, Herman!"

Herman shrugged. "Dat's de idea, I guess. Make de zone so small, ve have no choice but to go after each other."

"Yeah." Patrick conceded. "Probably gonna be down to one zone in the last hour before everyone's collars detonate tomorrow. We're all fucked, dude."

"Still…you gotta admit…" Herman grinned. "…ve musta looked pretty dangerous vhen ve cracked de necks of dose soldiers, eh?"

Patrick smiled back. "Yeah…that was pretty friggin' cool, man. With skills like ours, who needs weapons?"

"Still…" Herman went serious again. "…dose soldiers, dey may have had families."

"They took us away from _ours,_ man. I've got a paraplegic sister at home who's probably worried sick about me." Pat stepped over to place a hand on his friend's shoulder. "If we didn't kill those soldiers, they would have shot us dead. We were all forced into this, Herman. You think we would have done something like that if we _didn't_ have bombs around our necks? I'm certainly not gonna keep killing soldiers and innocent people if we can find a way to get off of this island before tomorrow's zero hour."

Herman shook his head. "Neither vould I." His eyes went back to his map, studying it very carefully as he turned away from Pat. "Ve should figure out a vay to get back to de others."

The young dutchman saw that the Danger Zones which now littered the island would make a rendezevous point tough to establish at this point, especially with new zones added every hour. Still…Herman maintained his optimism, which was something he had developed since the more pessimistic and paranoid student Herman Krieger used to be met a generally likeable young man named Patrick Dane during his Freshman year.

Under the circumstances, however, Herman figured that they would need to play it by eye and ear if they were going to link back up with the others. He slowly turned back to Pat, who lingered behind him. "It looks like ve gonna have to…"

Patrick Dane had suddenly disappeared. Herman initially figured that his good friend saw something that attracted the talented young Quarterback's attention.

But the dutchman's eyes then looked down…

…and found Patrick Dane lying upon the ground. His eyes boggled as he clutched at his neck. It was not until now that he began making horrible noises from the deep gash that had been inflicted upon his throat, just above the collar.

Horrified, Herman dropped down to the ground next to him, applying pressure on his neck, but blood began spilling and gargling out of his mouth now.

" _Mein gott_ …Patrick… _no! Stay vith me!_ " Herman pulled off his tank-top undershirt and tore off a long piece of fabric, hoping to tie it around his neck and stop the bleeding…

…but after a couple of convulsions, Patrick Dane suddenly went limp, his eyes locked open in an expression of horror. His bloody mouth remained agape.

"Patrick…" He shook his dead friend, who was not at all responsive. "… _PATRICK!_ "

He could hardly believe that his best friend…his partner on the Football field…his devoted tutor, who had helped him so selflessly through so many homework assignments…was gone, and all because he had turned his attention away from him for a long and studious moment. It was something else that Pat had taught him during their time together. _Take your time figuring out something difficult._ He had said during a test studying period. _Don't rush things._

Instead of lapsing into tears, however, Herman took a closer look at the throat wound. Who did he know who had any kind of a bladed weapon…

Manuel.

Manuel Ortiz.

He had the lenses of his binoculars fashioned into a weapon. A cutting weapon. If he had done this at Gina Salazar's request…

A scary look was now on the dutchman's face as he rose up from Patrick Dane's body. It was clear that Herman would not mourn his best friend's death until he found the person that he now knew was responsible for his demise…

…and quite literally rip him apart with his bare hands.

 **Boy #3 Dane – dead  
** **20 to go**

* * *

Mike Zimmer held the still-unconscious Krystal Riley by her shoulders, while Vladis Jellinek had a good grip on the girl's ankles as they made their way through the safe zones. Taking point during their progress was Malcolm Derricks, who had acquired two weapons in the wake of the Workshop insurrection.

Slung across his back was an MP5, and he had collected a pair of pistols.

Vladis was in a knot of worry upon seeing the stolen weapon on Malcolm's back during their progress. "Aren't you worried about the threat that…"

"Hell, no." Malcolm immediately shot back, keeping his eyes on the path ahead of him. "Motherfuckers tried to kill us. They want my new guns? They got to pry it from my cold dead fingers."

They eventually found a group of wooden benches and tables, which Malcolm consulted the map about. He saw that they had arrived at the zone on the map that was designated the 'Picnic Area'.

Malcolm irritably gestured to one of the wooden, red-painted tabletops. "Put her there."

Mike advised Vladis to settle her on the indicated table with care. Once she was across the table, a very worried-looking Mike began stroking tenderly at her hair. "There. Just relax." He quietly assured. "You're safe now."

Malcolm then placed one of the pistols he had collected into one of Vlad's free hands as he relaxed. "That's for you." The brown-skinned student confirmed.

Vladis, noticing that Malcolm still had a spare gun tucked into the waist area of his pants, gestured to Mike as he continued to tend to Krystal. "What about him? Doesn't he get one?"

Malcolm shook his head. "He's got that…Frisbee-blade thing."

"Which will not help him if he is being shot at." Vladis noted.

Apparently, Malcolm was ignoring this rationale. Something about the current situation was corrupting the bespectacled student's judgment, and Vlad was at a loss to figure out what it was.

Still…Malcolm seemed to be thinking on the disparity.

Mike, however, seemed to be considering the same logic. "Mal…can I have that gun? Please?"

"Man, you've _got_ a weapon!" Malcolm irritably replied. "Anyone…anyone shoots at you, you can throw that damn thing!"

"What if I lose it? What if I _miss?_ " Mike whined. "Come on…you've got two pistols now. You can spare one. I need a backup weapon!"

Malcolm sighed out heavily, closing his eyes in his indecision. His eyes then went to the unconscious girl who just happened to be the cause of his conundrum.

Malcolm pulled out the second gun and held it up in a non-threatening manner. "I'll give you this on one condition. Just one."

Mike frowned in his confusion. "Wh-what condition?" Vladis also looked confused.

But then, Malcolm gestured to Krystal. "We leave her here. I don't give a fuck what happens to her. I _hate_ that bitch."

Mike was vividly aghast over this suggestion. " _What?_ No fucking way! I _love_ that girl! What the hell do you have against her? I've never seen her be…"

"She is a goddamn _racist,_ man!" Malcolm angrily responded. "She's probably one of the only white girls in the whole damn school who still calls us _niggers!_ I ain't liftin' a finger to protect that…that bleach-blond bimbo bitch!"

Mike's eyes were wide now, even though he did indeed hear her use words like that to describe minorities more often than not. He figured that if she spent time with him, he might convince her to refer to them in a less-inflammatory fashion.

"You…you're so full of _shit!_ " Mike yelled.

"How do you know she ain't _usin'_ you, man?" Malcolm then challenged. "You think if she had the gun and you didn't have a weapon on you, she'd _protect_ you? She doesn't even give you the time of day at school because you just like me! She don't date guys like us, man! She probably thinks we're _dorks!_ You, me, Vlad…you think she'd really go _out_ with any of us?"

"I'm _not leaving her!_ " Mike yelled.

"Well, then I guess you're on your own then, aren't you?" Malcolm shot back.

"No, no! Stop!" Vladis stepped over to Malcolm, hoping to get through to him. "Please, this is what they want! Stop fighting and give Mike that gun!"

"He ain't gettin' _shit_ from me!" Malcolm growled, his anger clearly rising. "I'm not draggin' around no racist! In fact…" The bespectacled student suddenly pointed the gun in his hand right at Krystal's head, walking up to her. "…I think we should let some air outta this dumb bitch's head right now."

Mike held up his sharpened pot lid up threateningly, stepping in front of Krystal protectively. "NO! Don't you fuckin' dare! I _will cut you!_ "

"Oh really?" Malcolm challenged, now raising the gun up to Mike's head. "You cut me, I shoot you in the head. Who do you think will die faster, asshole?"

Vladis, however, trained his own gun on Malcolm's head. "Do not make me do this, Malcolm. Put the gun down. We do not have to be this way."

" _Bullshit._ This is the _game,_ man." Malcolm grimly reminded.

"Which we should be fighting against!" Vladis noted.

"Uh-huh. Last time we tried that, we lost _five_ of us." Malcolm countered.

"That is no reason to give up!" Vladis pleaded.

"Don't make me cut you…" Mike looked much more grim now. "…don't make me cut you…"

Malcolm turned his eyes to Vladis. "She probably thinks you're a _commie,_ man!"

"Listen to yourself! You are no different from those who really _are_ playing the game!" Vladis chided. "I do not care what I am called! It is just words! You are going to kill this girl because of _words?_ "

Malcolm knew that if Mike had Vladis effectively on his side, and the arguably sensible russian student had a gun, he would not survive even if Mal had pulled the trigger on Mike. Vlad would fire, and Malcolm would be gone.

Ironclad in his conviction, Malcolm's mind settled on a different approach. There was no way either one of his 'friends' would let this go. Not by a long shot.

Nevertheless, he lowered his gun very slowly.

"Okay." Malcolm assured. "Yeah…you're right. Just words." He chuckled a bit. "Pretty damn silly."

Vladis looked relieved now as he, too, lowered his stolen weapon. "Isn't it? They call me russkie, I do not care. Commie? Who gives a shit? I know I am not one, and that is all that matters."

Malcolm nodded as he stowed his gun away. "Cool." His eyes turned to Mike, who still had his pot lid up defensively. "Hey…it's all good, man. Chill?" He held up a hand apologetically, hoping for a handshake.

Although Mike was a bundle of frayed nerves, he figured Malcolm's gesture was genuine. "Y-yeah. Chill." He held out his own hand, keeping the pot lid gripped in the other. Malcolm grasped Mike's hand as Vladis stepped in close to the both of them…

…and then, Malcolm pulled the unsuspecting student in, drawing his icepick and stabbing Mike Zimmer right in his neck. He then angrily buried the pick, several times, into Mike's chest.

In the rage of the moment, despite the pain and the feel of his own warm blood, Mike quickly went into one of his pockets and pulled out the pepper spray he had gotten from Shuya. Misting it right into Malcolm's face, the bespectacled student staggered back, his irritated eyes watering up quickly. Dropping the spray, Mike then summoned up all the rage and hate he had built up and swung the pot lid, in a wide arc, out toward Malcolm's head…

…and the sharpened pot lid cleaved through a chunk of the bespectacled student's neck!

Mike's wide, wild, and angry arc spun the dying student down to the ground, and Malcolm's body dropped next to him. Blood gushed from Malcolm's gargling neck, while Mike's fatal neck injury spilled his own blood as profusely as his chest wounds, one of which was a deep and direct stab to the lovestruck student's heart.

Vladis also stumbled back, clutching his neck. Mike, turning his gaze to his Russian friend, stared in horror.

His wide, killing arc had cut through Vlad's neck as well, and he, too, was badly bleeding from it.

Vladis, however, staggered away, fearful of his own impending death. His hands fumbled for his map, wondering how near the infirmary was from their current position.

Despite the fact that a Danger Zone was in the straight-line path towards his chosen destination, Vladis staggered in that direction as Malcolm and Mike both went limp within the pools of their own blood.

"Infirmary…" he kept muttering as he staggered, blood spilling out of his mouth. "…infirmary…"

Still spilling blood, Vladis dropped to his knees just as he neared the Danger Zone, and then his upper body fell forward.

He then waited for the unavoidable death…the very thing he had feared moments ago…to take him.

Five minutes later, the eyes of Krystal Riley fluttered open. When she saw the bodies of Malcolm Derricks and Mike Zimmer, however, she wished they had stayed closed.

Her eyes boggled in horror upon seeing Mike Zimmer in particular. Coming off the desk, she rushed to the side of his now lifeless body, and tried to shake him back to life.

But Mike was gone. Mike Zimmer, a boy she genuinely liked, even though they walked separate paths of life…him an academic path, hers that of a cheerleader…had been claimed by this horrible game, and there was no way to bring him back.

"Come back…" She spoke through her sobs. "…Mike…come back, please…"

Her head then dropped on his bloody chest as she lost herself to her mournful sobbing.

 **Boy #4 Derricks – dead  
** **Boy #8 Jellinek – dead  
** **Boy #20 Zimmer - dead**

 **17 to go**

* * *

Not long after finishing her daily report, Cassandra Emerson had all the remaining soldiers…even those manning the consoles in the monitoring room…gather in her classroom on the second floor. She made sure that her gun could be seen as she spoke her words.

"I just want to confirm what you're probably all thinking." Cassandra began. "As per the pre-ordained rules of the BR-USA program, I'm assuming command of your unit for as long as the program continues. No one does anything from now on without getting the okay from me. Are we clear?"

The soldiers were silent, fixing hard and unpleasant stares upon the educator.

"Hey…look, kids. I was never responsible for what happened to your Captain." Cassandra reasoned. "I'm reminding you that this is procedure. You need a boss in the wake of your old boss dying, and I'm the proverbial 'it'."

"You ever been in a hot zone?" One of the soldiers asked.

Cassandra shrugged, smiling flippantly. "I'm in one now, aren't I?"

Another soldier skeptically, and irritably, spoke out. "Where the fuck does it say that we gotta have a civvie in charge of U.S. Army soldiers?"

The educator raised a written page that was within the mess of them on the teacher desk. "It's all on paragraph 13. Feel free to go over it after the meeting's done."

It was then that another of the men…Devane…took a step forward towards the woman before speaking. "You gonna lay off that drug we know you're snorting? I'm not following a coke-head."

The heads of several soldiers nodded in full agreement of his words.

Cassandra, however, walked right up to Devane's face, clearly displeased with the request. "Listen, leatherneck. You were put together and assigned _here_ by your superiors _._ You're not out in Afghanistan, or some other disenfranchised area of the world that the U.S. government wants to fuck around with. You're here until the game's over, and you _will_ answer to my authority from now on, get it?"

Devane responded with a glare that would melt an entire glacier of ice if it could. Not a word emerged from his lips.

"I might also remind you that for big-shot G.I. Joes, you've been pretty fucking pathetic." Cassandra added, further exacerbating the mood of the uniformed servicemen. "You all got owned…buttfucked…by a handful of _kids._ If that isn't a leatherneck's reality check from Hell, I quite frankly don't know what is."

"We oughta throw _your_ sorry ass out there, bitch!" Another soldier angrily called out, earning cries of agreement from the other men.

A loud beeping, however, from the floor below them attracted the group's attention. Even Cassandra looked curious.

One of the soldiers assigned to the console, however, hurried to the classroom's exit. "Oh, shit…!"

The entire group now surged down the stairs towards the monitoring room. Their eyes first fell upon the main Map, which was usually peppered with the Danger Zones that had been called and programmed in. An onscreen clock above the display would count down the hours, the minutes, and the seconds in which the game had lasted thus far.

The seconds, however, were frozen.

In the next moment, a blue screen…which in computer parlance was commonly referred to as a "Blue Screen Of Death", indicative of a DOS-based computer operating system error…suddenly replaced the Map display!

"What the _fuck…?_ " The soldier at the console fiddled with controls, but the screen did not change. The other screens surrounding the main Map screen also looked frozen, indicative of a catastrophic computer crash.

Even Cassandra was aghast now!

"Wait a minute…" one of the console-assigned men took a closer look at the blue screen writings. "…I see misspelled words here. See the words 'shut down'? It's not spelled 'shtu'."

One of the other solders nodded. "Nor is the word 'Windows' spelled 'W-N-I-D-W-O-S'. You'd think even Bill Gates wouldn't make THAT glaring of a typo."

"Hackers." Devane guessed aloud.

" _Bullshit._ " Cassandra angrily retorted. "All of their personal packs were checked for laptops, and there isn't a single working computer on the whole damn island! The BR Committee saw to that after the Shiroiwa program!"

"We must have been hacked from outside of the island." Another console man surmised aloud. "Anti-Grant protesters with computer skills."

"Probably working alongside moles in the committee." Another console attendant added.

Devane then stepped in front of Cassandra, who was rubbing her eyes in irritation in the tense moment of silence that followed. "So what's your call, 'boss'?"

Cassandra sighed out after another quiet moment. "We still have the gunboats to keep people on the island from escaping, and they don't know what's happened here. I want this school locked down. No one gets in or out. Any students charge in, you waste them. If we're lucky, everyone that's still alive so far is gonna go after each other. Last I saw, there are only eighteen of them left, including the ones who really are playing the game." She turned to one of the solders serving as console attendants. "So there are no Danger Zones left?"

The attendant shook his head. "All gone. I don't think you can kill them with that remote of yours, either."

" _Fuuuuuck._ " Cassandra hung her head back in frustration. She then rubbed at her head, trying to think of anything remotely resembling a solution. She then remembered that most computer problems were largely resolved through a system restart.

Even if the programs were hacked, she thought to herself, it was a start in the recovery effort.

Cassandra turned to one of the console attendants. "Shut down the system, wait 20 seconds, then restart it. If you get the system back, you're gonna go to work on it and see about fixing that hack."

"You realize that we'll lose everything in that time." Devane advised. "Not just Danger Zones, but communications. No more announcements, and we'll have no way of knowing who's dead or alive."

"Yes, I am aware of all that." Cassandra shot back. "Do you have, like, a Satellite uplink or something? Some way to communicate with mainland America?"

Devane nodded. "Affirmative. Are we sending a message out?"

Cassandra looked back at Devane incredulously. "What does 'D-U-H' spell, soldier?"

Although this earned her a dirty look from Devane, he quickly stepped away to arrange for the message to be sent to their superiors.

* * *

 **1450N:** I DID it! I can't believe I fuckin did it!

 **M1M00R4:** You and me both. I just scored a massive hit on their systems. All of those  
Danger Zones should be dead now. They're probably pissing their pants as we  
speak. What did you do?

 **1450N:** Well…um…I didn't kill a Danger Zone. I just decided to cut the signal on  
one of the students. I didn't know who, of course, but I hope it was Trudi.

 **M1M00R4:** And it worked?

 **1450N:** No errors came back, so…yeah!

 **M1M00R4:** So they obviously thought that one of the students was killed. Pat yourself  
on the back. You may have saved that person's life.

 **1450N:** Yeah, but…I saw a few numbers disappear as I was working.

 **M1M00R4:** Yeah. I saw that too. Must be a bloodbath over there. BUT…I have good  
news. I was able to find out which number is your sister.

 **1450N:** Really? Which one?

 **M1M00R4:** Pink number 8.

 **1450N:** Hang on a sec.

 **1450N:** Oh thank fucking god. She's still there.

 **M1M00R4:** Hanging out in one area with two girls named Natalie Cross and Nadia Wolinski.  
Looks like Blue number one, Walter Abilene, is coming up on them. Moving  
pretty slow, too. Maybe he's wounded.

 **1450N:** I've gotta clear her signal. I mean, like, right now.

 **M1M00R4:** Be my guest…but just remember. Every tamper is a chance that you could be  
traced. If you ask me, you should wait before you fuck with the system again,  
or you could be in very real danger.

 **1450N:** Even if I do little things?

 **M1M00R4:** Doesn't matter. Any kind of signal is a potential trace, which is why you may not  
hear from me again for a while after we're done chatting.

 **1450N:** How long?

 **M1M00R4:** For a hack like I just did? Think months. Even years. You should disappear for a  
few months, too. Come to Japan, if you like. Maybe we can meet someplace and  
talk over sushi. ;)

 **M1M00R4:** 1450N? You still there?

 **M1M00R4:** Hello?

 **M1M00R4:** Hey. It's been an hour now. You still there?

 **M1M00R4:** Back from the bathroom, maybe?

* * *

As the group of black-garbed soldiers held the struggling and very frightened Jason Malone's arms to the sides, and pulled his head back, Sgt. Gregory Oakland stepped behind him as the Sergeant's fellow soldiers continued to dismantle and destroy Jason's computer system, and pulled a silenced pistol out. He had his men put a cloth gag in the hacker's mouth, as well.

"It's nothing personal, kid." Oakland calmly assured as he positioned the long, black barrel of the silencer against the back of the young civilian hacker's head. "I'm just following orders here."

The Sergeant then squeezed the trigger.

Leaving the dead hacker beneath a growing pool of blood in his own room, Sgt. Oakland stepped back outside the room and headed downstairs. Going through the Living Room, he stepped over the body of Jason's mother, who was similarly executed.

Going back into the house's kitchen, he saw that the coffee maker had completed pouring fresh coffee into the pot. Grabbing a mug from the closet above, he poured himself a fresh cup, seeing as how he had accomplished the black ops mission that had been authorized by Anderson Grant himself.

Just as Grant had authorized his country's part in the joint U.S.-Japan bombing of the Wild Seven island fortress upon becoming the President of the United States.

* * *

" _Madre de dios_ …" Manuel kept repeating as he stared down at the blood on his hands. Blood that once belonged to Patrick Dane. "… _madre de dios_ …"

Manuel Ortiz remained a shivering, nervous wreck after having sliced open the throat of the school's star Quarterback. He had been wandering around the safe areas of the map hoping to find a trace of Gina Salazar. He even checked the places where he had encountered her last.

She was nowhere to be found.

He was looking forward to her acceptance of what he did, seeing as how he had to betray his mother's promise in order to do so. He couldn't figure out whether he should be proud of himself, or ashamed. He continued to struggle with the rationale of what he did as well. Some logic that went into the killing stroke, which Manuel initially believed would spectacularly fail, and get himself killed instead.

A part of him wished that he had failed as he continued to crouch, and shiver. Was Gina really worth what he had done?

During her time with Alejandro Espina, he remembered a time when Alejandro had chosen to bully Manuel after school. As with all those other times, Gina was there to watch him humiliate the geekish student.

He remembered asking her flat out. _Why are you always bothering me? What did I do to you?_

Gina would snort in derision before giving the answer he gave her every time he asked. _Because you weak, marica. You always so fuckin' weak._

 _Marica._ The Spanish word for _sissy_. She mercilessly taunted him with this word at every opportunity.

And yet, he still seemed to carry a torch for this girl. Even when he hated her, there was still that side of Manuel who found Gina desirable. He figured there would come a time when Alejandro would be gone, Gina would be alone, and he would throw himself at her in the hopes that she would accept him.

It was no doubt a stroke of cruel fate that the opportunity had finally arrived, but in the form of the very first BR-USA program.

As he struggled with his guilt, his peripheral vision caught sight of a woman with short, dark hair. In her hands was an Uzi Submachine Gun. On her face was an ice cold expression.

Emma Curahee…who now had a crude cloth headband wrapped around her head, to bandage and conceal her graze wound…was headed in his direction.

It was clear that Manuel's only option was to get away, but he made so much noise in doing so that he was certain that Emma was attracted by the noise. The sound of a burst of bullets punching upon the soil behind him was clear evidence that she was now coming after him.

His movements were frantic as he scrambled to get some distance, and possibly shake off the vengeful, militant girl chasing him. In his desperation, he dashed towards what looked like a simple residence, which he remembered was one of a handful he saw on the map the last time he referenced it. He just hoped that it wasn't a Danger Zone. He had no time to check. This was his only real option.

Fortunately, he had a bit of distance on Emma, and his collar did not begin beeping as he collided wildly with the single-level residence's entrance door. Pulling it open, he dived into the empty space within, and looked for a place to hide under.

His best bet was to hide beneath one of the side windows, and wait. As he did, he pulled out his survival map and looked over the marked residences. Three of them were within Danger Zones, including the one that had been added by Mrs. Emerson.

Manuel counted out the total number of residences on the map. There were a total of five. One of these Danger Zone residences was in the vicinity of the Gymnasium, which would be to the southeast of the residence. His curiosity piqued, he waited a few minutes more. He had to be sure that there was no one outside. He needed to be sure that Emma was not still stalking him.

When he confirmed that there was nothing but silence, he crawled over to the door and slowly got to his feet. Quietly opening the door, he stepped out of the residence and headed southeast.

Sure enough, Manuel came upon a large building with wide open entrances on its north and south sides, and a broken window. Coming closer to this building, he confirmed that the interior was indeed a Gymnasium, given the glossy wooden floor, and the gymnastics fixtures within.

Checking back on his map in accordance with his curiosity, he saw that he had marked the Gym in accordance with the confusion of Mrs. Emerson's drugged-out rant. He had marked 'DZ?' over the Gymnasium area of his map.

If it was a DZ, however, his collar would be beeping.

And for that matter, his collar should have been beeping when he went into the residence he had briefly invaded.

Did the collars die? Did something happen at the island's school complex?

He had to find Gina. She had to know about this. He headed for the southern entrance…

…but a large, bulky, bare-chested and musclebound young man with an entirely grim and dark expression stepped over from outside to confront Manuel. A man he immediately recognized, and after his first real kill, feared.

It was Herman Krieger.

From the look in his eyes, this was no longer the gentle giant he had always known Herman to be. This look was far more fearsome.

Manuel, stopping in his tracks, froze where he stood for a long moment. When Herman began taking a couple of steps toward him, Manny stepped backward for every such advance.

He tried to think of something to say to Herman. Some manner of excuse to justify what he did. He couldn't. Herman's appearance, in any case, seemed to indicate that words just weren't an option.

"You killed him." Herman intoned. "I know you did, you _bastard._ "

Any response Manuel might have attempted caught in his throat. In that moment, he could practically see his mother's face as well as Herman's glaring murderously upon him.

Manuel turned around and wildly took off for the gym's northern entrance. His only real option was to try and outrun a trained Football athlete. He knew it was futile to do so, but unless another option manifested in his mad retreat, such as Herman being diverted by someone actively playing the game rather than resisting it, he could only run.

Even if he tripped and fell, and he had gotten some distance on Herman, he needed to get up and keep running.

"ARE YOU HAPPY?" Herman hollered as he ran. "ARE YOU HAPPY TO HAVE KILLED A GOOD MAN FOR A _GIRL?_ "

Manuel didn't answer. He just kept running. It was as if he had forgotten how to speak. As if he had consciously opted to become a mute. All he could do was run.

If he stumbled or stopped for less than a second, he knew he would die. He was even willing to race off the edge of a cliff and drop to his death if it meant getting away from Herman Krieger.

It was inevitable that the big man's hands would painfully grasp Manuel's arms, and a wave of terror took hold of the weaker and exhausted man as he felt his body slam against the ground beneath him, having been literally thrown down like a rag doll by the much stronger man.

He knew something had broke in his body with the hard impact. Pain set in quickly as his body was turned to face Herman, who glared down upon Manuel murderously. The dutchman had settled his body weight upon Patrick Dane's killer, and his eyes burned hatefully upon the young student beneath him.

One of Herman's large hands grabbed a handful of Manuel's hair as he spoke right into his face. "Don't you know dat da girl you killed for is _DEAD?_ Gina vas KILLED, _ASSHOLE!_ VOULD YOU HAVE KILLED PATRICK IF YOU _KNEW DAT?_ "

Past the moment of complete disbelief that hit Manuel upon hearing this news, it occurred to him that he had slept through the noon report, and he did indeed miss the death manifest that came with it.

He could hardly believe Gina was dead.

Now all Manny could do was stare back at Herman, his expression of disbelief practically frozen in place.

Herman's hands were at Manuel's throat now as he began to squeeze with all of his might.

"I kill you…" Herman growled, his face now a mask of rage. "…I KILL YOU!"

The dutchman kept repeating the same three words as he quite literally began to break Manuel Ortiz as much as he possibly could. His head was smashed with a rock Herman had grabbed. Manny's joints were wrenched and broken. Herman stamped down as hard as he could upon the dying student. A puddle of blood grew beneath Patrick Dane's murderer as he continued to viciously beat Manuel to death.

Even past the moment of Manuel's life mercifully leaving his body, Herman kept pounding away on him.

When Herman's rage was finally satisfied, his blood-soaked body rose up as he continued to stare down at the mass of broken flesh and blood that was once Manuel Ortiz. As Herman felt that his sense of justice had been served, he finally began to calm down.

His peripheral vision, however, caught sight of an observer to his right, and he quickly turned to face this person, who was aiming a gun at him.

Herman gestured to the bloody human mess his rage had inflicted. "He…he killed my best friend. I had to…had to do it."

"Don't worry, Herman." The blond girl's tone was entirely sympathetic. "God will forgive you."

Gloria Angel then fired eight shots into the stronger man's body and watched him drop down into the human mess he had created moments ago.

A wave of nausea took hold of Angel as her gaze lingered on the bloody mess beneath Herman's body, and she quickly turned and hurried away as her mouth filled with vomit.

 **Boy #10 – Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"Look, Ma! No guns!"  
** **Achieve a kill without using  
** **any weapons**

 **Boy #10 Krieger – dead  
** **Boy #13 Ortiz – dead**

 **15 to go**

* * *

 **BR-RELATED PROTESTS ERUPT OUTSIDE MIDDLE SCHOOLS**

"Students of Middle School 202 in Howard Beach, Queens, as well as Middle Schools all over the five boroughs, are out in force in front of their school buildings in loud protest for the class full of graduating students that went missing yesterday as they were on their way to a senior class trip. A representative for the protesters in front of Robert H. Goddard Middle School vowed that they would remain in front of their school, refusing all classes until a controversial educational reform act created in Japan in the year 2000 that was rumored to have received congressional consideration here in the United States is repealed. The Grant Administration's Press Secretary, however, maintains that the infamous 'BR Act' is not and was never under any consideration at all."

PRESS SECRETARY ANNE B. WHIRRY: For the umpteenth time, the Grant Administration whole-heartedly echoes the sentiment of the majority of the american people that our nation is far too civilized to bring a barbaric and inhuman reform act from another country into any serious consideration. The Justice Department is working around the clock to see to it that the missing schoolchildren are found and brought home safely to their families.

"The Queens borough Senate representative, however, paints a much darker picture on the veracity of the Grant Administration's official statement."

QUEENS BOROUGH SENATOR ABRAHAM MEYER: This was unquestionably a clear response to that protest which occurred outside of the Department of Education. They _meant_ to kill those 56 students to make an example of them! There was no hesitation! Anderson U.S. Grant personally _demanded_ that the BR Act be implemented in this country. I actually heard him _say_ those words! But that's obviously gonna be the part that he will continue to leave out of his public statements, and all the callous and headstrong bullies that make up his entire administration will unsurprisingly echo, and have the audacity to defend, his outrageous and unwise denials.

"No ultimatum, nor any word of a related response, has been issued at this time in answer to the protests, which are ongoing."

* * *

Cassandra Emerson grimly observed the images playing on the flatscreen TV that had been installed in the Teachers Lounge near the first floor monitoring room. She ate sushi as she watched Senator Meyer…Issac's father…publicly counter the Grant Administration's fabrications.

She shook her head shamefully as the news program moved on to yet another BR Act-related story, this time highlighting an interview from the Dane family.

The presence of one of the console attendants, however, diverted her attention.

"Okay…I have good news and bad news," He began. "and most of it is bad."

Cassandra sighed. "Fine. Bad news first."

"Whoever these hackers are did a pretty good job of fucking our computers over." The attendant reported. "The program that maintains the signal for multiple Danger Zones has an overwhelming amount of viral code in it. By the time we were done repairing the program, the game would be over because it's gonna take us longer than two days. It can be fixed, but…"

"Yeah, yeah." Cassandra interjected. "Let's hear the good news."

"We were able to fix a couple of the computerized elements." The attendant continued. "The map display is back up, and we can continue monitoring the onscreen numbers. Pulse scans are also active, so we can keep monitoring any kills that happen. The last bit is something we'll need you to help us with. We can establish _one_ Danger Zone for the time we have left. Did you want this building to be that Danger Zone?"

After a moment of thought, Cassandra nodded. "Yeah. What about communication? Are the island's loudspeakers still working?"

The attendant shook his head. "Screwed. White noise would block the signal if you tried. We still have that secure uplink to get us all off the island, though."

Cassandra slowly nodded again. "Swell." She flatly replied. "Is that it?"

It took a long moment for the lingering attendant to reply, but he felt he needed to shut the door to the Lounge before speaking as Cassandra curiously turned to him.

When he turned back to the educator, he had a bit of a disgusted look on his face. "As I'm sure you know, you didn't make a lot of new friends with that 'I'm assuming command' speech you gave. You didn't give any consideration to the men we lost in that insurrection at the Workshop."

Cassandra smirked. "Not surprised. Is there a point to this?"

"The six men stationed at Biv Post One are out there. Now." The uniformed attendant revealed. "They deserted their post. They want payback for the death of Captain Curahee. They're gonna kill the first student they find."

The female educator giggled over this notion. "Does that include Georgie's daughter? She's still out there, isn't she?"

The attendant smirked now. "She's the obvious exception. They also asked me to tell you that if you report their desertion, they'll share your cocaine indulgences with the DEA when we're done here."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. Her reply was laced with sarcasm. "Be still, my beating heart. Anything else? If not, fuck off back to your post."

With a look of disgust, the attendant quietly turned away and returned to the monitoring room.

In the privacy of her thoughts, as yet another BR-related story played on the news, Cassandra began to consider going into her backup supply of 'candy'.

* * *

 _Issac humbly bowed his head. "Happy to be of service, Mister Ellis." He then looked out to where he had spotted Manuel Ortiz. "For as long as you don't try to shoot me in the back, of course."_

 _Issac Meyer then placed one arm around Margaret Turmell, and gestured for Violet Noda to follow with his other hand. The two ladies flanked him as they turned away from the guard post. Peter Ellis took Violet's place at the post._

 _A thought occurred to Violet as the trio moved. "Issac…if you don't mind, I'd like to go over the blueprint for that rifle and go find the missing pieces for it."_

 _Issac angled his head, amusedly, to the Japanese girl. "Are you nurturing aspirations to become a battle-maid, Miss Noda?"_

 _"Better in our hands than someone like Gloria Angel." Violet reasoned._

 _Issac nodded. "Good point. Be careful."_

 _Nodding in acknowledgement, Violet began to step away…but she stopped and turned around, watching Issac and Margaret from a short distance away. She was still close enough to hear them as they turned to each other._

 _"Judging by the bullet hole in your back of your shirt, I'd say you had quite a thrill ride so far, Miss Turmell." Issac observed. "Were you scared at all?"_

 _Margaret lowered her head, looking embarrassed. "Well…kinda…"_

 _"You shouldn't be ashamed, Miss Turmell." Issac tenderly advised. "It's no bad thing to be scared. I think under the circumstances, you'd be crazy if you weren't."_

 _"I'm just…glad you're alright." She flashed her coquettish, braces-lined grin, blushing sweetly as she spoke. "Mister Meyer."_

 _Issac raised an eyebrow, smiling back. "Touche'."_

 _After a moment, Margaret quickly angled her head forward to give Issac a quick kiss on his lips._

 _Issac blinked in surprise, his eyebrows raised. "I stand corrected. You're not scared at all, are you?"_

 _Margaret shrugged sweetly, still grinning. "Maaaay-be."_

 _"Does this mean I have to respond in kind, Miss Turmell?"_

 _"Ummm…" The pudgy girl looked nervous now. "…well…I wouldn't mind, if…you did…"_

 _Still smiling, Issac pressed his lips to Margaret's. She closed her eyes, and then wrapped her arms around the bespectacled young man. Violet heard Margaret emit a quiet, appreciative moan._

 _Issac then slowly pulled away from her lips, still smiling. "If we really can get off this island," He quietly remarked. "we should start doing that more often."_

 _Margaret giggled impishly. "I'd like that…Mister Meyer." She then stepped away bashfully, moving to where a smiling Violet was watching. "He kissed me…" she excitedly hissed, practically hopping in place. "…he really kissed me!"_

 _"He's a good man, Margaret." Violet pleasantly replied._

 _"Oh! Mister Meyer! There's something I forgot to tell you…" Margaret hurried back over to Issac. "…I found something last night when I went to find a place to sleep." She pulled out her map and presented it to the curious jewish student. "I marked it. It's right here, by the shore. I was sleeping there last night. I found a safe there!"_

 _"A safe?" Issac was now quite curious. "As in…a security box? With a combination lock?"_

 _"Yes!" Margaret gingerly confirmed. "I couldn't open it, though. I didn't know the combination…but it looked like something is in that safe. It looks, like, new."_

 _Issac nodded. He then turned his head to Violet. "See if you can find that blueprint for the rifle."_

 _It did not take long for Violet to locate the illustrated paper. Looking it over, she noticed a series of numbers that looked like a combination sequence on the back of the blueprint. When she returned to Issac and Margaret, she pointed to the possible combination sequence she discovered._

 _Issac nodded once again. "Looks like you have something else to look into during your scavenger hunt, Miss Noda."_

* * *

Having followed her own laminated map, Violet Noda located the area where the safe was located. At one point, she needed to avoid being noticed by Gloria Angel as the pious blond assassin continued to scour the island terrain looking for her next target. She initially thought that Gloria would be an easy kill, but she saw that the blond student was now carrying a pistol. Violet ultimately decided against the notion of an impromptu shootout, opting instead to avoid being noticed by Gloria.

A few minutes later, she heard the carnage at the now distant Workshop, stopping a moment out of concern for her friends. She hoped they were all okay.

During her search for other rifle components, she had discovered a thick black barrel near the body of Alejandro Espina. Curiously slipping it over the barrel of the MAC-10, she discovered that the piece was a perfect fit, as if it were meant to be a legitimate attachment for her weapon.

She had also found a piece of the Assault Rifle in Espina's nearby bag, as well.

Making her way along the staircases of the locale to reach the noted safe, she began working the dial, hearing a rhythm of gentle clicks as it turned and settled at the numbers noted on the blueprint.

Once Violet had spun the dial to the last number, she pulled the safe's lever, and the small, thick metal door swung open.

Inside the bright metal interior were two rows of three ammunition magazines, which according to the blueprint were indeed the ammo clips for the AR-15!

Closing the door of the now empty safe, she decided to assess the parts she had collected thus far. She already had the components offered by the team at the Workshop in her Survival Pack, and after having found the piece in Espina's bag, there was still one component that Violet needed to locate.

Stepping out of the dark, isolated area where the safe was located to go back into the afternoon light, however, a glint suddenly flashed in her right eye. Her blood ran cold in that moment as her eyes went wide with shock…

…and when the sound of a Machine Pistol discharging filled the air, Violet dashed for a hardpoint, gripping her MAC-10.

"IT'S THAT FUCKING BUTCHER JAP!" She heard a man cry out. "HE WASTED COLLINS!"

Violet's senses were now primed from the apparent intervention. Judging by what she had heard about the 'butcher jap', she figured Shuya was in the area.

The Japanese girl stayed low as she moved in the direction of the voice she heard. _Check your corners._ She remembered her Uncle…a retired soldier…telling her when he taught her a few things about how to survive in a combat zone when she was younger. _Check your zones._

Her eyes scanned in almost every direction as she moved. The area was very quiet.

She eventually came upon the soldier that had been killed by the gunfire she heard. She didn't let the sight of his dead body mess with her head, however. She thought about collecting his weapons, but that would potentially make her a stationary target as she acquired the guns.

She already had a gun anyway.

The careful, quiet, and very tense maneuvering of Violet and the squad of black-garbed soldiers continued until Violet was able to crawl up onto a large, half-buried rock, and spot two soldiers clutching their MP5s. They were both facing away from Violet as they continued to stalk for their prey.

With the bright sun at her back, Violet rose up to her feet and brought up her weapon…

…while the disturbance of the sunlight at their backs compelled both soldiers to leap, and turn to face whoever was behind them.

But Violet's MAC-10 was already firing a stream of bullets in their direction. She waved the barrel left and right, keeping the trigger pulled.

The shots fatally stitched up both soldiers before they could fire back. Once she knew they had been dropped, she hurried back down the rock as a hail of bullets zinged upon it. Back down on the ground, she was back in a crouch as the other soldiers from Bivouac Post #1 hurried over to the rock.

" _SHIT!_ " She heard one of them cry out as she attempted to reposition herself.

The sound of a grenade clattering nearby had Violet rushing…and leaping…out of the thunderous blast radius that followed. Rolling around, she caught sight of a soldier dashing for another hardpoint. Violet squeezed off a few rounds in this soldier's direction, but the shots went wild.

The Japanese girl hurried away as shots fired in her direction, two of the lethal round whizzing very close to her head as she moved. She dived behind a tree.

A hail of bullets crashed upon the tree and around the ground on both sides of the tree, kicking up bits and pieces of soil as she remained behind the natural hardpoint. When there was a brief lull on one side of the tree, she partially exposed herself to fire a burst of her own, which effectively emptied her first clip.

Now, all she could do was remain behind the tree for the moment as shots once again peppered around her.

An explosion, mingled with the screams of affected soldiers, rocked the area where the aggressors were firing from, and that was as good an excuse as any to dash over to the next nearest hardpoint, which was yet another tree.

Pistol shots rang out as Violet slapped the second…and last…clip of her MAC-10 into the ammo chamber of the weapon. She heard the groans of wounded men, however, as she remained behind the tree.

Hoping that this wasn't a sly trick, Violet partially exposed herself to take a peek…

…and she saw the butcher of Tokyo, Shuya Nanahara, pointing a pistol down at a badly-wounded soldier. He then coldly fired two shots at the black-garbed soldier's head.

It was now or never. Her parents needed to be avenged! She exposed herself before Shuya, screaming hatefully, and pulled the trigger on her weapon…

…but instead of another maelstrom of bullets, she heard a loud click instead. Her weapon had jammed!

All she could do was stand there, fearfully, as Shuya lifted his head up to look upon the sister of Satomi Noda.

Despite her weapon jamming, Violet still kept her weapon pointed at Shuya.

"You killed my parents." Violet angrily remarked, speaking japanese. "You son of a _bitch._ "

"And yet, I saved your life." Shuya calmly responded. "If I had not stepped in to help you, you would be dead."

"That doesn't bring back my parents!" Violet snapped. "Or my sister!"

"Our government killed your sister, not me. Just like they killed Nobu." He glanced down at the soldiers he had executed. "Their government has become no different from ours. Sending people out to die while they sit in their chairs and revel in being masters in their own minds."

"My parents weren't like that!" Tears began to fill Violet's eyes. "They just…they needed jobs…"

This served as a reminder of Walter's words when he spoke to Shuya. The american's words about people who only went to the buildings to work routine jobs, with little to no concern for the reasons why the ex-student turned freedom fighter destroyed them.

"I can't bring back your parents anymore than I could bring back Satomi. I wish I could." Shuya lamented. "I wouldn't have killed anyone at all if it weren't for the adults that forced me to do what your sister and I did seven years ago. That forced you and your classmates to do the very same thing here on this island right now."

Violet still kept her jammed gun pointed at Shuya. The tears continued to stream from her eyes.

The japanese freedom fighter crouched down and pulled the dead american soldier's pistol from its holster, and then checked the clip, slapping it back in after confirming that it still had bullets. He then tossed it towards Violet. The weapon landed on the ground in front of her.

"Your weapon jammed." Shuya reminded. He then pointed to the sidearm he had offered her. "If you want to kill me so badly, use that instead."

Violet remained where she was. She didn't even bend down to grab the offered pistol. A part of her wondered if this was a cruel trick.

In the next moment, however, Shuya pulled out his Machine Pistol…

…and similarly tossed it to the side. After dropping his zippered Survival Pack, he then raised his hands, and slowly spun in place to convince her that he was no longer armed.

"Go on, then." Shuya calmly challenged, keeping his hands raised. "Avenge your parents. I won't shoot back."

Violet now lowered herself, slowly, to the ground to reach for the pistol that laid idle near her feet. Scooping it up, and then dropping the MAC-10, she held the active gun up, pointing it at the butcher of Tokyo.

Her eyes boggled with anticipation. All it would take is one simple squeeze of the trigger, and not only would her parents rest in peace, she would have satisfaction.

The words of Issac Meyer, however, came back to her, and they mingled with Shuya's own logic about being forced into these extreme responses. If he were everything that american news outlets had made him out to be, if he were this callous and cruel murderer, why would he submit himself so openly to Violet's justice?

Nothing about Shuya's expression indicated that he was attempting to deceive her, either.

The 'butcher of Tokyo' then closed his eyes, and quietly waited for the inevitable. In that moment, he also heard a noise behind him. A footstep. It was very close.

But when the expected shots…five of them…did fire, they whizzed past his right ear.

"GODDAMN YOU, HEATHEN!" Gloria Angel angrily cried out as she fled.

Violet's eyes still boggled as smoke emerged from the barrel. When Shuya angled his head behind him, he noticed a familiar-looking blond girl distancing herself from them. In Gloria's right hand was a Hunting Knife.

Slowly, the gun in Violet's hands lowered, but her tense, wide-eyed expression lingered as her eyes returned to Shuya.

The collared freedom fighter lowered his arms as Violet slowly approached Shuya. Stopping in front of him, they stared at each other for a long, tense moment…

…and in a flash of anger, Violet swung a tightly balled-up fist, connecting solidly with Shuya's jaw and sending him to the ground.

Shuya placed a hand at his throbbing jaw, feeling a trickle of warm moisture at the corner of his lips. He then turned his head to Violet. "I thought you wanted to avenge your parents."

Violet, who had stowed the pistol, rubbed at her sore fist as she continued to glare down at Shuya. "I just did."

* * *

The machete whistled over Martin's head as he ducked yet another swing of Lorenzo Trujillo's weapon.

He had chosen the perfect moment to strike at the boy with the solid gold knife. Initially prepared to contribute to the Workshop offensive, Martin's peripheral vision had caught sight of Lorenzo rearing back his first furious swing. After a few more of Lorenzo's wild and angry swings, Martin chose to dash away, with the machete-wielding student in hot pursuit.

Finding a spot away from the battle, the sounds of distant gunfire from the Workshop insurrection echoed down to where Lorenzo continued his attempts to score a fatal cut on Martin Norris. It was always an attempt to lop off an extremity…if not Martin's head…with every swing.

Eventually, Lorenzo had Martin beneath him, and the frightened-looking young man raised his hands defensively. "Hey! _Hey!_ Jeezus fuck! What the hell is _your_ problem, man?"

Fortunately, the wild-eyed Lorenzo chose a spoken response over his killing blow. "I _know_ they put crazy people in these BR games to 'make things more interesting'! Contest winner, my ass!"

Once again, Lorenzo swung down, but Martin rolled to the side, avoiding a strike which dug deep into the ground where his body once laid. While he was on his side, Martin quickly snapped a solid kick at Lorenzo's left knee, which caused the machete-armed student to groan painfully as Martin scrambled back to his feet.

While the pain in his knee slowly subsided, he pulled the machete out of the ground and raced after Martin, initially limping forward, and then picking up speed. "GET BACK HERE, FUCKFACE!"

Martin, however, had seemingly gotten a bit of distance on the furious student with the machete, and after a few minutes of running, Lorenzo slowed to a stop, panting exhaustedly.

He then disgustedly slipped the machete back into the scabbard at his waist. "SHIT!"

As he walked off at a more casual pace, he began to think of a way to somehow get the drop on this 'contest winner'.

He hoped, from then on, that a more stealthy approach would work.

* * *

It was during their search for Natalie Cross that Walter Abilene's group…consisting of Annabeth Grant, Moriah Houk, and Valerie Chung…made their startling discovery.

"Dude, we just wandered into a _Danger Zone._ " Moriah indicated their position on her map, showing it to the others as proof of her claim. "Our collars aren't beeping!"

Valerie looked to Annabeth, her eyes wide. "You think their computers went down? Maybe we could…"

"No." Walter interjected. "I think we should stick to the plan. There's too few of us. I don't wanna go Rambo just yet, but…this is obviously a plus. Second residence on the map is just ahead. Let's just keep going."

Moriah nodded. "Well, since I don't have Danger Zones to worry about, I should go find Martin and get him back with us." She then pointed an index finger at Walter. "You be careful if you find Natty, little boy."

Walter smirked. "Yes, mommy."

"Damn right, I'm your mommy." Moriah replied, grinning.

"You be careful too, Moe." Annabeth called over as Moriah stepped away.

"Natch, paleface!" Moriah, raising a peace sign in acknowledgement, then hurried away.

Annabeth's eyes next went to Valerie, who was now staring thoughtfully at her bloodstained Woodcutter's Axe.

Concerned, the collared young woman stepped over to her longtime friend. "Penny for your thoughts, Vee?"

"Huh?" Valerie's head snapped up in her surprise, but she waved dismissively. "Oh, nothing, nothing."

"Are you sure?"

Valerie nodded. "Yeah…but, uh…I think I'm gonna need to go squat soon."

Annabeth nodded in understanding. "Yeah, sure! Just stay close. Don't go too far."

Valerie smiled a bit. "Yes, mommy."

Grinning, Annabeth stepped back over to Walter, who had stopped a few feet away from the door to the residence. "Seeing as how you've got the better guns, and I've still got a bum leg, you, uh…think you can find out if anyone's in there?"

Annabeth brought up the MP5 as she nodded. "Will do. Stay put."

Moving to the front door of the residence as quietly as she could, she very slowly opened the door and stepped into the darkened room within.

Although when her eyes looked to the floor of the very messy room, she wished she hadn't entered the residence at all.

Two of the girls from her homeroom class, and one of the boys, were lying upon the ground in here. All three were dead alongside the tainted remnants of a bowl of chicken soup that had spilled over them. The goth girl Deidre Vandervelde, Alejandro's girlfriend Gina Salazar, and Kevin Mintner of the T.D. gang. Kevin and Deidre had fatal bullet wounds in their heads, while Gina showed no visible evidence of a gunshot.

The small vial of KCN Poison, however, gave Annabeth an idea as to how Gina had died.

The bugs that were flying and crawling over the trio of corpses, some of whom had died after eating the tainted soup, added significantly to the horrific sight…and the even worse scents…that Annabeth had unexpectedly walked in on.

When Annabeth slowly re-emerged outside of the residence, she looked understandably nauseous over what she had seen.

Walter looked confused. "Is she…?"

Annabeth shook her head, breathing heavily.

She then began to vividly puke.

Walter quickly limped forward, hurrying over to Annabeth as she dropped to her knees, still vomiting over the horrendous sight. He placed a hand on one of her shoulders as she tried to relax.

"I hate this game…" Annabeth stopped to cough heavily, after which she heaved out more vomit. "…I really hate it…"

Walter nodded. "Likewise. So…Natty's not in there?"

Annabeth shook her head again.

"Let's move on, then. Next residence is a bit of a walk, and it's gonna be dark soon." Walter remarked. He then looked around in sudden curiosity. "Where's Val?"

Annabeth finally got to her feet, spitting a bit of phlegm on the mess of fresh vomit below her, clearing her throat before answering. "Bathroom break." Walter handed her an unopened plastic bottle of water from his Survival Pack, which Annabeth cracked open and chugged a bit from before handing it back. "Thanks."

Walter then turned to begin limping away from the residence. Annabeth looked a little confused. "Aren't we gonna wait for Val?"

"Didn't you see how she hacked up that soldier during the fight at the Workshop?" Walter noted. "I think she can handle herself. She can catch up. She knows where we're going. Besides…knowing how fast I can go with this leg, I don't think we'll even reach the next residence before she can catch up."

Although she was still a little concerned for the safety of her best friend, she hesitantly nodded, and then stepped over to give Walter a hand in stabilizing his forward movement.

* * *

Having diverted Annabeth, Valerie Chung had settled herself upon the damp soil and thoughtfully held out her Woodcutter's Axe, which was now covered in sticky, dried blood.

It was the first time she had actually killed a man. Granted, it was in self-defense, but she never imagined she could cause that much damage with any kind of weapon, let alone an axe like the one she now held. The cold, lifeless, open-eyed stare still lingered in her mind, as did the sight of the deep, fatal gashes she had inflicted.

She feared for the kind of damage she could inflict if she had to use it again. Especially if this horrible game would compel her to turn against her friends just to survive.

Still…the idea of being able to go to whatever College she wanted, anywhere in the world, tuition-free had its appeal. Her parents had been counting on her to achieve academic greatness, which was more than they could say for her more rebellious and rude younger brother, who was pretty much a juvenile delinquent compared to his older sister.

How could she survive something like this, and return to face the world, given all the blood that would be on her hands?

What happened next seemed like fate as she heard the bushes behind her rustle a bit, mingling with the sound of footsteps to her right that had stopped near where she was sitting.

She turned her head towards this new presence, expecting to see someone like Gloria Angel, or Emma Curahee.

But it was William Han.

He just stood there, staring down at her as she gazed back at him. In his right hand was a wooden Baseball Bat.

She hoped that the sight of all the blood on her, and on the axe, would intimidate the Chinese-american athlete a little. Perhaps keep him from physically lashing out at her, as he once did before their relationship ended as badly as it did.

"Who did you kill?" William asked, his expression still largely neutral.

Valerie tried to hide her nervousness as she rose to her feet. She swung the axe up to rest it on her right shoulder, trying to look tough. "Someone bigger…and tougher…than you are."

Billy looked surprised now. "One of the T.D.?"

"Actually, if you must know, it was one of those soldiers." Valerie confidently answered, looking amused by her ex-boyfriend's funny-looking expression of cluelessness. "I hacked him to pieces. It was easy. All I did was pretend that it was you I was chopping up."

William sighed irritably. "Look…can't we just let the past go for now? I think the Danger Zones died. We should be able to get off of the island. This may be our only chance to escape!"

"Oh, just you and me, huh?" Valerie looked skeptical. "What about the others?"

William frowned in confusion. "What others?"

"What, you haven't been keeping track?" Valerie chided. "Walt Abilene's still alive. So is Moe Houk and Annabeth. Trudi, Nadia, Nattie…these are all people who could come with us. People who…"

"Are you fucking _nuts?_ " Billy interjected. "Walt got shot in the leg! He wouldn't be able to swim! And _Annabeth?_ You do know she's the President's daughter, right? The guy who's putting us through all this BR shit? Moe's a weirdo, Trudi's a Star Wars nerd, Nadia's a fuckin' russkie who can't even speak english all that well, and Nattie's a pain freak. Yeah…real winners, Val. You know how to pick 'em. No…you stick with me, and I don't wanna hear any back-talk this time. We are swimming the fuck off of this island right now!" He then angrily grabbed Val's right arm with a tight grip. "Come on. We're fuckin' going."

"HEY! Get your hand off me!" Valerie protested. "Jesus Christ, you haven't changed a bit!" She switched to speaking chinese as William tried to drag her away with him. " _Ni zenme gen ni ba yi yang_ _?_ "

William stopped upon hearing this, and roughly pulled Valerie in towards him. He then viciously back-handed Valerie across her face. The blow solidly connected, and sent the collared girl back a couple of paces.

"Don't you EVER bring up my dad, you stubborn BITCH!" William furiously roared. "You bring him up again…" He brought up his bat. "…and I'll _really_ give you something to scream about!"

The blow, however, proved to be a mistake as Valerie Chung completely snapped. When her bruised face turned towards her abusive ex-boyfriend, she screamed with savage fury, swinging her axe down upon him with all the strength her vengeful rage could give her.

Billy, however, had his bat up to block the blow, although the axe cut deeply into the wood with its first blow, very nearly cleaving it in two.

Knowing the bat was now useless, he dropped it down and looked to Valerie in disbelief. " _Fuuuck!_ "

Still enraged, Valerie swung at Billy again. The athlete leaped back a bit as the axe sliced harmlessly into the space Billy had vacated.

Billy started to run with Valerie hot on his heels, but his foot caught on a tree branch before he could pick up speed, collapsing him to the ground. As he rose up, he felt the axe bite very deeply into his shoulder with the Chinese-american girl's next furious swing, and he screamed aloud in pain as blood began to gush from the wound. Pulling the blade of the axe-head out, she furiously brought it down once again, this time violently burying it into one side of his face.

Pulling it out yet again, Valerie continued to hack away at the dying body of William Han as his arms flailed upward towards his ex-girlfriend, the sting of his blow to her face compelling her to strike again and again with rising ferocity. _Never again!_ She practically screamed repeatedly to herself as his blood splattered up at her. _Never again!_

When she finally stopped hacking away at the athlete in front of her, he was just as much a lifeless mess as the soldier she had previously killed, only the colors of Billy Han's outfit showed more of his own blood compared to the blackness of the dead soldier's outfit.

Valerie shook terribly as she stared down at Billy Han's hacked-up body. She could hardly hear the voice that spoke behind her as the now mentally-unhinged student's attention remained on her own bloody handiwork.

"Don't worry." The voice said. "God will forgive you."

As Gloria's gun was right at the back of Valerie's head, not making contact with it, the pistol discharged a single thunderous round which dropped Valerie Chung over the bloody remains of William Han.

Having lifted a zippo lighter and a squeeze bottle of kerosene off the bodies of two of the dead soldiers, Gloria stowed her pistol away and began splattering the kerosene all over Valerie's dead body, which twitched once as she laid there. Igniting the lighter, she threw it upon Valerie's body and watched both corpses go up in flames.

"May the cleansing flame destroy the devil spirits inside you both." Gloria calmly remarked as the flames consumed not only the corpses, but the wooden portions of their weapons as well. "May your souls be at peace now."

Gloria traced the sign of the cross in the air as she stared down at the burning bodies, and then turned away, drawing her gun back out to continue her hunt.

 **Boy #17 Han – dead  
** **Girl #2 Chung – dead**

 **13 to go**

* * *

Annabeth had stopped in her tracks upon hearing the distant gunshot behind her. She was also certain that she had heard screaming as well before the suspicious pop.

Her first thought was of Valerie, but Walter proposed another possibility when he made his comment.

"Emma and Gloria must have found each other." Walter mused.

Annabeth turned back to her crippled friend, fearing the worst. "I don't think so, Walt."

Walter checked his map. "We're almost at the next residence. If you ask me, I think Val's fine."

Annabeth sounded fretful now. "I should have given her my gun! What if…what if Billy Han found her?"

"Then she'll hack him to pieces." Walter confidently responded. "You and I both know she's not gonna put up with any more abuse from that jerk."

"What about the gunshot, Walt?" Annabeth then asked.

Walter had to consider this as well. "Did you want to go back and look for her?"

Given the distance they had covered, and the fact that the natural light above was dying with the second day's advance into night time, Annabeth figured it would be more sensible to finish their business at the residence, and hold to the rationale that Valerie was indeed capable of handling herself. She could have even been the one who fired the gun.

"No, it's OK. You're probably right." Annabeth gestured to the road ahead of her. "Let's keep going. We should be able to spot the residence by now."

After advancing for another ten feet, they finally spotted the single-level residence. Judging by their initial view of the windows, it looked like the interior of this residence was illuminated by candlelight, as the lights seemed to flicker a bit.

When Annabeth took a careful peek inside, she confirmed that Natalie was inside, and crept back to inform Walter accordingly.

The crippled student passed his Survival Pack to Annabeth, opening it up for a moment so he could stow the gun he inherited from Issac Meyer within it. Annabeth looked wary over this move. "You're going in unarmed?"

"I have to." Walter answered. "Don't ask why. Just…trust me."

He then limped to the front door as quickly as he could, keeping his eyes on the front door. "I'll handle this. You just be ready to leap in if it sounds like they're getting frisky."

But Annabeth was now unconscious, having been struck from behind by a solid object. As Walter knocked on the door, her assailant quietly carried her out of sight.

The crippled student expected to see Natalie answer the door, but it was a much different-looking Trudi Malone who pulled the door open. She flashed a creepy smile to Walter upon sighting him.

Walter needed to do a double-take, seeing as how Trudi's hair…and her outfit, or what was left of it…looked radically different. The half-lidded eyes that went with Trudi's eerie smile made her look blissed.

"Hiiii, Walter." Trudi quietly began. "You here to see Mistress?"

Before Walter could answer, they both heard the voice of Natalie Cross. "Let him in, slave."

When the crippled boy's eyes glanced behind him, his eyes widened, seeing as Annabeth…who was supposed to be his safety net…was no longer there.

Walter now looked _very_ nervous as he carefully stepped inside the residence. The smell of clove cigarettes was in the air as his eyes adjusted to the darker interior…

…before settling upon a grinning Natalie Cross, who was seated in a chair surrounded by lit candles.

"Fancy seeing you again," Natalie amusedly began as the crippled student limped over to her. "slave."

Walter lowered his head, blushing in embarrassment. "Hello, mistress."

"I'd expect you to get on your knees, like last time…" Natalie mused. "…but seeing as how you have a bad leg wound, I'll make an exception."

"Thank you, mistress." Walter replied, keeping his head bowed.

"So what brings you here, slave?" Natalie asked, tilting her head curiously. "Did you wish to die at the hands of your mistress, or…were you looking to earn a more…lucrative favor?"

"May I look at you, mistress?"

Natalie nodded. "You may."

"The latter case, mistress." Walter answered as he raised his head back up. "I…humbly ask for your help in an assault on the school."

Natalie nodded slowly. "That's what I thought you would ask." She rose to her feet and began pacing, slowly and imperiously, around Walter. "I heard about what happened at the Workshop. Did you have anything to do with that, slave?"

Walter nodded. "Yes, mistress."

"And you knew I wanted to go after that teacher and the Captain, didn't you?" Natalie challenged as she stopped in front of Walter. "Why didn't you come to me before you did anything?"

Walter swallowed hard. "We…didn't know where you were, Mistress."

"We've always been here. Ever since we started this shitty program." Natalie chided. "You could have taken the time to look for me, slave. That was very inconsiderate of you."

"We have that…that japanese man with us, mistress." Walter next explained. "Please, I…I need anyone who doesn't want to play this stupid game anymore, and…and I…"

"Yes, you're right. I don't like this game any more than you do." She then reached down to caress the cheek of Trudi Malone, who had dropped to her knees upon the space to the left of where she was sitting. "I don't want to kill such sweet and loyal slaves."

Trudi responded like a pet, visibly pleased by the attention Natalie was giving her.

"But…you know, being one of my slaves, that I am not the charitable sort. Even in these…unique circumstances." Natalie's eyes returned to gaze upon Walter. "If I must do something for you, you must do something for me in return."

Walter had a look of dread on his face now. He had hoped that the BR program would mitigate his parlay with Natalie, but she unfortunately remained true to her dominant propensities. "W…what do you…what do you want from me?"

"A moment, slave." Natalie raised an index finger, and then turned her head to the side, calling out. "Do you have her, Nadia?"

" _Da!_ I come up behind her and knock her out!" Nadia called back. "She is still out cold!"

Walter looked nervous now. "Mistress…I…I beg you…please leave Annabeth out of this."

Natalie's right eyebrow raised up. "Why? Is she not a part of the game too?"

"She has big gun on her back, Mistress!" Nadia called out. "Just like machine guns on soldiers!"

Natalie grinned now, gesturing to Trudi. "Slave Jedi could use a new toy. She lost the useless weapon they gave her."

"Mistress…" Walter sounded desperate now, fearing for what this 'bargain' might entail. "…they gave Annabeth a _butter knife._ Without that gun…"

"A butter knife, eh?" Natalie interjected amusedly as she stepped up to Walter and began wrapping a length of her bullwhip around Walter's neck. "I can think of a few ways to give men and women pleasure with one of those. Let's step outside. Soak up the full moonlight."

Walter struggled to remain upright, but he had to exert weight upon the bad leg, which sent a shot of pain through him. He grimaced as he stumbled along behind Natalie, trying to hold himself upright by grasping Natalie's shoulder. When they were outside, he saw Nadia Wolinski standing over Annabeth Grant's unconscious body, which was lying face down on the soil. Nadia was aiming a crossbow down on his female friend as Natalie and her two slaves stepped over to them.

"Jedi…" Natalie turned to Trudi, who perked up at the mention of her given name. "…look for the butter knife in her Survival Pack. When you find it, bring it to me."

As Trudi stepped over to begin looking through Annabeth's Survival Pack, Natalie slinked behind Walter and wrapped her arms around his torso, effectively pinning his arms to the sides as he spoke right into his left ear alluringly. "I'll never forget the last time I got to play with you, slave. I promised you pleasure for tutoring me in Social Studies. Did I not make that night…unforgettable for you?"

"Mistress…please, I…"

Natalie suddenly tightened the coils around his neck. " _Answer,_ slave!"

"YES!" Walter called out despite the constriction at his throat. "Yes…yes…y-you did, M…Mistress."

Having discovered the Butter Knife, Trudi rose back up from the ground and stepped gingerly over to Natalie, presenting the knife to her.

"Hold on to it for the moment, Jedi." Natalie resumed speaking in Walter's ear. "Now…I'm going to give you a choice, slave. Either you allow Trudi to take Annabeth's gun, or I show you what delirious pleasures I can give you with that Butter Knife. One, or the other, will be payment enough for me and my slaves to help you attack the school. Otherwise? You're on your own…and if you attack when we do? We'll kill your group, too."

Walter closed his eyes in his frustration as Natalie and her slaves giggled around him.

"So…" Natalie teasingly flicked the tip of her tongue against the side of Walter's ear. "…what will it be, slave? Surrender her gun, or you pull your pants down, and wait for my little…back-door surgery? Where _everyone_ can see us?"

Trudi brought her lips right up to Walter's other ear, whispering right into it. "She won't hurt you…let her play with you. Don't let her take the gun. _Trust me._ Her touch is _incredible._ "

Walter felt Natalie's free hand undo the clasp and the zipper on his pants. She then grasped his crotch as she spoke into his other ear. " _Answer,_ slave."

In that moment, despite the lingering pain in his leg, he knew that he couldn't allow the girls to take Annabeth's MP5. If anyone was to make a sacrifice for the potential advantages Natalie and her 'slaves' could provide, it was to be Walter. No matter how humiliating his sacrifice would be, he deemed it necessary. Even if it was a trick that would result in his death.

Walter's hands went to his pants, and he began to pull them down…

…but he was suddenly, roughly, shoved aside by Natalie! Feeling the whip quickly slip off of his neck, he heard the weapon emit four vicious cracks.

When Walter was able to roll and prop his upper body up, he saw Emma Curahee empty a barrage of bullets from her Uzi Submachine Gun into Natalie Cross. Another barrage cruelly perforated Trudi as well.

Nadia sent a crossbow bolt flying towards Emma's head, and it initially looked like the bolt struck home, given Emma's reaction…

…but the bolt apparently cut across the flesh on Emma's right cheekbone. Emma's response was a burst which cut Nadia down as well.

The militant girl then turned to Walter, grinning, and pulled the trigger of her Uzi.

But the response was a click.

Walter began to fearfully scramble back, the aggravated pain in his leg continuing to torture and handicap his desperation. Getting up wasn't an option, as his pants were around his ankles. Emma pulled the empty clip out, and then rummaged through her own Survival Pack for a fresh one. Finding one, she quickly pulled it out and shoved it right into the submachine gun's handle, slapping the clip in to secure it. She then pulled back the weapon's loading bar and quickly took aim…

…but the brief and thunderous short burst of live rounds cut into Emma's leg from behind her as Annabeth rolled to life, cradling her MP5! Emma dropped to a knee as she grimaced in agony, blood spilling from her wounded leg. Annabeth hurried over to defensively step in front of Walter, keeping her gun on the hobbled, militant girl.

Emma quickly rolled to the side as another burst spilled forth from the barrel of Annabeth's weapon. Despite her agony, Emma was quick to hurry away from the residence, disappearing quickly.

A mix of coughing, sobbing, and choking could be heard where Trudi was blasted down. Annabeth could still see movement there, unlike Nadia, who was gone from the fatal wounds Emma shot into her chest, and her head.

Trudi's own wounds were bad enough. She wasn't going to last much longer, and Annabeth knew it. As she knew Trudi to be a friend, she crouched beside her and cradled her upper body as she writhed in agony. Looking up to Annabeth, she had a pleading look in her face as blood spilled from her mouth.

"Please… _*koff* *koff*_ …I…I wanna g-go home…" Trudi pleaded through her tears. "…I wanna go home…I wanna go home…mommy…mommy…"

Annabeth's eyes filled with tears as she continued to try and comfort her fallen friend. "Shhhh…it's okay…relax…" She found it difficult to talk through her sobbing. "…you'll be home soon…"

"I-I'm so cold…sss-so _cold!_ " Another spasm of coughing sent more blood spilling out of her mouth. "…I want my mommy…mommy…J-Jason…please…I wanna g… _*kkkk*_ …I wanna go…h-home…" Trudi began to go limp now. "….home…"

Once Trudi was gone, Annabeth squinted her eyes shut in her frustration. "Shit…" She regretfully remarked through her sobs. "… _shit!_ "

Walter glanced over to Natalie, but there was no sign of movement at all from her bullet-riddled body. She was gone as well.

As a rumble of thunder was heard in the skies, Annabeth pulled the lids down over Trudi's eyes with her fingertips before rising and stepping over to Nadia's body to collect the Crossbow. She then moved to Walter and pulled him to his feet. He winced over the throbbing in his bad leg as they walked away from the residence. Both Walter and Annabeth were dead silent as they distanced themselves from the bodies of the BR-USA program's latest victims.

 **Girl #3 Cross – dead  
** **Girl #8 Malone – dead  
** **Girl #19 Wolinski - dead**

 **10 to go**


	12. XI: Radio Darkness

**XI: Radio Darkness**

 _"_ _This is war, right? You're all fighting for your lives! But die, and you're just one more candle! Even those poor little kids! You're all the same. You're no better than the adults!."_

 _\- Takuma Aoi, "Battle Royale II: Requiem"_

 **12:00 A.M.**

The last time the eyes of Takuma Aoi were open, he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. After that, his consciousness found comfort in the blackness of a void.

It seemed, however, that no time had passed at all when Takuma's eyes suddenly blinked open.

His vision remained a bit of a blur as a bit of strength returned to his limbs. Enough for him to notice that he had been settled onto a metal seat in a darkened, 10' x 10' room with a single fan above the only door into and out of the room to provide air circulation. Small areas of soft light within the four walls around him provided the room with its minimal amount of illumination.

He was surprised that his wrists were not bound. If he was being held captive, he figured that they would at least ensure that he would be capably restrained. When his hands went to his neck, he confirmed that no collar had been applied there. He also saw that he was still in the clothes the afghans had provided for him, which were the same clothes that he wore when he was detained in Zaranj.

Takuma felt compelled to rise to his feet and try to bust the door down, but the door opened on its own once the japanese boy had achieved full consciousness.

Two figures…a man, and a young woman…stepped inside. The man had a head of soft brown hair, parted to one side. The woman, who was clearly asian, had gathered up her own golden brown hair into a sock bun style at the top of her head. Both were dressed in full business suits. In one of the woman's hands was a metal seat that was identical in appearance to the one that Takuma was sitting upon. She quietly placed this seat in front of Takuma so that the man could sit in front of the room's sole occupant.

" _Konban wa, Takuma-kun._ " The american man began. "I don't speak much japanese, I'm afraid," He then gestured to the young asian woman next to him. "which is why my associate here will translate my words as I speak them."

Already, Takuma looked like a predatory animal about to pounce. His first, slowly-spoken words were in english, and his tone was intimidatingly menacing. "Who are you?"

The american man briefly smirked. He resumed speaking in english. "I represent a faction of the american government that stands against the policies Anderson U.S. Grant wants to force upon the people of our country, one of which is obviously identical to the educational reform programs that your country was stuck with. We think your country's Prime Minister and our President are in collusion in this respect. We also believe that President Grant, along with individuals that are in his current administration, are responsible for cannibalizing the educational budget in an unwise effort to repair the damage to our economy caused by an unexpected, real estate-related catastrophe."

Takuma growled a response, which the asian translator repeated in english. "Wake me when you can tell me something I actually care about."

The american man, keeping his eyes on Takuma, smiled at this. "There is a middle school in the United States that was gassed into unconsciousness, and they were taken to an island. They just finished day two of an american version of the Battle Royale." He leaned into Takuma to reveal a snippet of information the american figured would interest the japanese freedom fighter, who was at least listening now. "Shuya Nanahara was placed among them. We're in the understanding that he's still alive, but the game began with 40 students. There are only ten left as we speak. If they don't have a single winner 24 hours from now, the collars around the necks of those ten students will detonate. They'll all die, as will Shuya."

Takuma's eyes drifted to the ground as the american spoke. After a long moment of silence, he began speaking. "Just like people in Japan. China. North Korea. Guatemala. Indonesia. Cuba. Congo. Peru. Laos. Vietnam." He brought his angry eyes up to stare upon the american's now as he continued speaking the names of the countries Shuya and Riki Takeuchi had mentioned in their condemnations. "Cambodia. Grenada. Libya. El Salvador. Panama. Bolivia. Kuwait. Sudan. Somalia. Fucking _Afghanistan._ "

"Yes, I know. We bombed them all." The american calmly replied. "We had to deal with a catastrophe of our own, you know. Almost three thousand lives were lost that day, and it made us very paranoid. Gave us a reason to hate the word 'terrorist'. But I didn't bring you here to talk about politics."

Takuma's enraged japanese words were calmly translated thusly by the american man's asian aide. "Why should I help a country that thinks its problems can be solved by pressing buttons?"

A long, tense moment of silence followed before the american man gave his response. "There's something to be said for bad people in positions of power and influence who won't forget the past. They're doomed to repeat it."

The american went quiet for a moment so that Takuma could think on those words.

He then resumed speaking, with the asian continuing to translate accordingly. "Our organization would never condone such…childish behavior. I do agree that problems cannot always be solved with the launching of rockets, guided or otherwise. This is why you're here, Takuma-kun. This is why you were spared whatever your initial captors had in store for you. We want the Grant Administration to be removed from power, and sanity returned to our country's government. If you can help us accomplish this, then we would be willing to offer our services towards the repeal of the educational reform act which will continue to murder 80 middle-school students every year…forty from your country, and forty from ours…unless we take action."

Takuma looked a little less angry now. The japanese words he spoke were dutifully translated by the pretty asian next to the american. "Give me a reason to trust you."

The american nodded, and then turned his head to his aide. "Bring her in."

She nodded back, and then stepped back over to the door. The eyes of the american man, and Takuma, went to the door as well.

When the asian opened it, the person waiting outside of the room stepped in, and slowly walked over to stand next to the american.

Takuma's eyes went wide the moment she stepped into the light, illuminating her perpetually serene face.

* * *

It was with a pair of tweezers that Emma Curahee had procured from her personal pack that she was able to find the means of extracting the three slugs that were lodged in her lower leg, just above her ankle. She had already placed a large branch between her teeth in preparation for the agony to come.

But there was no fear in her eyes whatsoever as she prepared to dig the metal implement into the first bleeding wound. In the time she had spent with her father, she had divorced herself from fearing any pain.

She remembered the time in which he had unexpectedly shot her in a non-lethal area of her body. She still had the scar to remind her of that harrowing day in which Emma Curahee advanced beyond the influence of her mother, and embraced a developing aspect of herself…logically honed through her father's influence and training…which was much more hardcore.

 _Pain dares you to be weak._ She remembered her father telling her. _It wants you to be scared. Deny it! Drink it! EMBRACE it!_

Emma's eyes boggled as she drew in a sharp breath once the tweezers began digging into the first bullet hole, burrowing through flesh and blood to find the offending bullet slug.

 _Pain reminds you that you're ALIVE!_ Her father's words reminded. _SUCK IT UP!_

Where she would have been crying out with the agony she was feeling, she instead began to laugh, as if she were being tickled. Once the tweezers found the slug, she squeezed the implement and began to very carefully pull it out.

Using the water from a full canteen of water she took off of a dead soldier, she rinsed the blood off of the tweezers and immediately buried it into the second bullet hole, rummaging the metal implement around to look for the slug within the damaged mass of flesh and blood.

She spit out the branch between her teeth this time.

Again, she laughed, and moaned, with the pain. She was able to find the slug quicker this time, and she carefully pulled the spent round out. Not even bothering to wash the blood off of the crimson-drenched tweezers, she dug them into the third bullet hole. Her eyes boggled as the sick grin on her mouth lingered, drinking of the pain that mercilessly seized her leg once again.

After two minutes of agony, the spent round was extracted, and dropped next to the other rounds.

More of the canteen's water washed the leg wounds, and she next began extracting strands of her own hair, which threaded a needle she had acquired from her personal pack.

Using the strands of hair as makeshift sutures, she began sewing the wounds closed. Her eyes boggled insanely as she painfully punctured the severed edges of the flesh and pulled, slowly and gradually joining the edges.

A rumble of thunder preceded the feel of a drop on her cheek, just below the wide cut Nadia's crossbow bolt had inflicted. Several other drops followed until the cloudy, rust-colored night skies above began drenching Emma with fresh rainfall.

Ignoring the downpour, she was eventually able to finish mending the third wound. She let the rain wash off the excess blood, and she pulled out another long piece of cloth that she had fashioned during her stay at the Gymnasium, and wrapped up the leg wounds with it.

As the rain began to pick up in its intensity, Emma heard the sound of a voice from afar, which was faint compared to the dominant onslaught of cascading water all around her. "Eeeeeeeem-maaaaaaa…"

The voice was definitely female, and vaguely familiar as she curiously scanned the area, raising the Uzi she had placed beside her during her mending job.

Lowering the weapon, she began to rise to her feet. She tried walking a couple of paces, but the pain in her wounded leg forced a limp as she heard the voice once again. "Eeeeeeeem-maaaaaaa…"

"Who is that?" Emma growled, gripping her Uzi with both hands. "COME OUT HERE, you chicken shit!"

Only the sound of the pouring rain, and the rumbles of thunder, answered her challenge. She waited for another five minutes before resuming her limping movement, checking out her map to find a place to shelter herself.

The voice once again tormented her, this time singing her words. "Daaaad-dyyyyyyy's goooooone aaa-waaaaaay…"

She was finally able to place the voice. It came from a girl she envied for being so popular at school. So annoyingly nice, and so nauseatingly cheery. It was a shame, because Emma figured that a girl like Moriah Houk had the potential to be a fantastic warrior.

"Redskin?" Emma called out, slowly spinning around with her Uzi in her hands. "That's _you,_ isn't it, you fucking coward?"

Emma continued to stalk forward, surveying everything around her, and waiting for the voice to speak again.

"Eeeeem-maaaa miiiiii-sses daaaaaad-dyyyyy…" The voice sung again, clearly taunting the militant girl. "…Eeeeem-maaaa miiiiii-sses daaaaaad-dyyyyy…"

What bothered Emma was that the voice came from a different direction every time! It was beginning to freak her out now as her face became a mask of rage. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

As much as she wanted to be able to resist the lingering agony in her leg, she was beginning to feel very faint now as her paranoia grew. "Sh…shut…th' ffff…shut the fuck...fffuck…"

Her body dropped to the ground as her consciousness began to fade.

A few minutes later, Moriah Houk stood over Emma's body. She tightly held her Hand Axe in her right hand as the heavy rain lingered around her, and rumbles of thunder continued to resound in the skies, accompanied by bright flashes of light. A part of the native american girl wanted to finish Emma off where she laid…pull up Emma's head so she could slice open her throat, or just chop off the army brat's head…

…but she couldn't. Her grandfather had taught her that it was against the nature of any hunt to dispatch one's prey in such a dishonorable manner. Even someone as sadistic as Emma Curahee. Moriah had seen Emma bully many students in her own militant fashion, and her torment often took the form of the kind of hazing one expects from being in military school. Moriah, however, had always imagined that it was because of someone else's influence that she behaved in such an extreme manner.

Shaking her head, Moriah casually walked away from Emma's unconscious body, closing her eyes and angling her head back to feel the large raindrops cascade upon her face.

She reveled in the feel of being drenched by heavy rainfall as she continued distancing herself from Emma Curahee. She was tempted to pull a bar of soap from her personal pack so she could strip down and take an impromptu shower.

But the hunt wasn't over yet. There was still prey to stalk, and friends to protect.

* * *

The torrential rains made it difficult for Annabeth and Walter to see where they were going as they moved. They were practically wandering aimlessly as their sneakers sank into and filled with mud with every step they took.

Walter wasn't looking good. He looked pale as he held on to Annabeth. She surmised that his bad leg was not making his condition any better. She feared he was on the verge of developing pneumonia.

Annabeth herself was not feeling much better despite being able to drive off Emma. The weight from carrying two Survival Packs, and two personal packs, fatigued her significantly.

It was Walter, however, who collapsed to the ground first as they trudged along the soft, mushy trails. He stared up at the rainy skies as he laid there, panting…and crying.

Annabeth dropped to a knee next to him. "Is it your leg?"

Walter sighed as the large raindrops peppered him. "It's _everything._ I'm surprised I'm not dead yet. This is…this is all so _fucked._ I should have died back there…and to see a girl I liked just die in front of me, like Issac did…Jesus. Your dad must be all kinds of fucked to even put us through something like this to begin with! _WHY?_ Why does he want kids like us to kill each other? What the fuck did we do? Most of us don't even have our first goddamn job, man! My leg hurts like hell…my so-called 'plans' didn't work…I should just pull off this friggin' collar and get it over with!"

"Walt, stop it. STOP IT!" Annabeth hollered. "You've gotta be better than this! That plan didn't fail! We kicked the _shit_ out of those soldiers! Their Captain is dead! They're probably scared shitless of us now! Don't you tell me you're worthless, Walt. I won't believe you!"

"Just…just let me stay here…leave me…" Walter lamented, resting his head to the side. "…let me go…"

Annabeth angrily grabbed Walter's shoulder. "I am _not leaving you._ You wanna stay here and die of pneumonia, I'm gonna do the same. You're stuck with me, Walter Abilene, whether you like it or not, 'cause…'cause…"

Annabeth then pulled Walter's upper body up and planted a deep kiss on his lips. She could feel his body shivering from the chill that came with the rain. She kept her arms wrapped around him, holding him in a comfortably tight grip from which she hoped he could find a bit of warmth.

Her mouth was next to Walter's ear as she maintained the hug. "Please don't give up on me now, Walt." She whispered, fighting back tears of her own.

Walter's voice was weak as he spoke. "Too…tired…cold…I-I can't…"

A bright light suddenly shined upon them. Annabeth expected gunshots tearing up their bodies in the next moment as she winced from the sudden illumination.

"Can you help me carry him?"

Annabeth felt a bit relieved to hear the voice of Martin Norris. "Yes!"

"You're both lucky the Infirmary is nearby." Martin noted as he hurried over to grab Walter's shoulders. Annabeth slipped the strap of Walter's Survival Pack and his personal pack over Martin, effectively passing her extra burden on to him, before carefully grabbing Walter's legs.

"I guess something happened at the school." Martin remarked as the two of them carried Walter, who now looked unconscious. "Danger Zones seem to be gone, and we're long overdue for a death report."

Annabeth didn't answer. All she cared about for the moment was to make sure Walter would be okay.

Their journey to the Infirmary was eventless as they hurried out of the rain and into the relative safety of the care station. They were quick to undress Walter, and then settle him onto one of the beds, after which Martin immediately began looking for painkillers. Annabeth grabbed a thick gray comforter from one of the beds and quickly wrapped it around her, settling herself into a seat next to Walter's bed.

After feeding Walter a couple of pills, Martin pulled his bed's bedsheets and its own comforter over the ailing boy's body. Although he was still dripping wet, he was thankful to feel a soft, warm mattress beneath him once again.

To Annabeth's surprise, Martin pulled a pistol out, pulling the slide back to load a round. "I'll take first watch. You get some rest."

Annabeth looked a bit wary, though, upon sighting Martin's gun. "Where'd you…"

"Got it off one of those dead soldiers." Martin interjected. "Wish I had it when that guy Lorenzo attacked me. You should have seen how paranoid he looked. Might wanna stay clear of him."

Annabeth began coughing and sniffling a bit. Her nose felt a bit stuffy.

"You should change out of those wet clothes, you know." Martin advised. "I know we're all supposed to die tomorrow, but I would think you'd wanna die with the strength to fight."

"I'll be alright." Annabeth assured. "Better in here than out there. Listen…Martin, I know you don't know any of us, but…I wanted to thank you for the help you've been giving us during this thing."

Martin smiled a bit. "Self-defense at all times, and protecting my friends at all costs, remember?"

Annabeth nodded, smiling back. "You realize you're gonna need to break that promise before midnight tonight."

Martin shook his head. "Naah. I'd rather hear the beeps that come right before the end. Unless, by some kind of dumb luck, I actually win."

Annabeth chose to remain quiet rather than acknowledge Martin's attempt at dark humor.

Martin, however, had an observation to make. "What if it were you? What if you were the one that survived this thing?"

She responded after a long, quiet moment of consideration. "I'd probably go into politics. Try to stop people like my dad from becoming President."

"Or become a President yourself." Martin mused. "You're a pretty good fighter. You'd have that going for you."

"I doubt it." Annabeth lamented. "They'd probably assassinate me for the crime of being a female who has the audacity to try and become a world leader."

"Fuck 'em." Martin confidently remarked. "Fight for the job anyway. Make history."

Annabeth sighed out comfortably and thoughtfully. "Maybe."

At that moment, Martin and Annabeth heard movement outside. As they brought their guns up, however, they saw a soaked Moriah Houk carrying a familiar-looking girl in her arms.

"It's Krystal Riley." Moriah remarked. "She needs a bed."

Martin nodded, gesturing to one of the unused beds. "Over there."

As they saw to Krystal's comfort, Annabeth took a deep breath and closed her eyes in her attempt to take a quick nap. Glancing over at Walter, he was still fast asleep.

But thankfully, he was still alive.

* * *

Cassandra Emerson's head was laying on the teacher's desk in the second floor classroom. On the desk, in front of her, were a couple of lines of white powder. Residue next to them indicated that she had snorted up similarly-arranged lines.

The woman felt blissed. At peace, for once.

The slamming of a hand, however, brought her out of this bliss, and she jerked her head up.

Angling his head right into her face with a ferocious frown was a face from her past. A japanese guy she once dated after watching a teaching seminar with him. A man who had the most vivid conniptions of any man she had ever dated. He also had a hairstyle that reminded her of Elvis Presley.

He called himself Ricky.

His eyes boggled as he spoke. His first words were in english. "Coke-faced BITCH!"

Stalking away from the desk, his long overcoat flowing behind him, Cassandra lifted her head off the desk and gazed upon Ricky with a weary expression. Her own response was in japanese. "With the way you're always popping those goddamn pills of yours, I'm in good company."

Ricky pointed to one of the classroom seats, regarding Cassandra with another furious expression. From then on, he spoke only in his native japanese tongue. "SIT DOWN!"

"You sit." Cassandra wearily shot back. "I'm bitter."

But Ricky's angry voice roared once again, his hand repeatedly and thunderously slapping the surface of the seat. "SIT DOWN!"

With all the petulance of a bratty school kid, Cassandra drifted over to the indicated seat and plopped into it, slouching lazily as Ricky stepped up to the bare blackboard.

A piece of chalk began writing out the words in english, and in capital letters. "COURTESY" was the first. Below this, he began writing the word "RESPECT".

Cassandra's words were in japanese. "Have you ever practiced what you preach, teach?"

Ricky slowly turned to Cassandra with a smirk, pointing his piece of chalk at the top word. "Don't you remember these words from the teaching seminar? Or was your head full of drugs that day?"

Cassandra, insulted, barked back angrily. "I wasn't _on_ drugs back then, dummy!"

"No…" Ricky opened his eyes wide in accordance with the point he wanted to make. "…because back then, you really _did_ want to be a teacher! And to be a good teacher, you need to show…" The chalk piece tapped against the first word. "…courtesy…" It then tapped against the second. "…and respect!"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "I _did_ show courtesy and respect."

Ricky's head tilted to the side, frowning amusedly. "Before…or _after_ …you started yelling at them?" He maneuvered around the desk, tilting his head with every word. "Before…or after…you gave hard homework assignments?" He took a step towards Cassandra now. "Before…or after…the corporal punishments?"

Cassandra's fury was clearly rising as she spoke. "You know what I got from all that 'courtesy' and 'respect' I gave them? Eraser marks on my ass. Disgusting spitballs. Vandalized textbooks. One of them even pulled a goddamn KNIFE on me!"

Ricky, however, was back at the blackboard, writing yet another english word as the woman spoke her response in his language: "TOLERANCE".

The chalk piece tapped against this word as Ricky turned his frowning face back towards Cassandra. "What about this? Have you forgotten this word, too?"

Again, Cassandra's words were laced with barely-restrained fury. "I'm fresh out of that. Don't think I'll ever get it back."

Ricky responded to this with loud applause, clapping his hands together hard in a celebratory fashion. "Good! Good! Bravo!" He then buried a hand in a pocket of his overcoat, and produced a plastic medicine bottle, which he popped open and practically drank from before throwing it to the side. Chewing on the mass of white pills he had poured into his mouth, he stepped in front of the blackboard and spread his hands to the sides, angling his head down as he looked menacingly at Cassandra.

"Congratulations! Test passed! A plus!" He remarked, pills half-eaten and otherwise spilling out of his grinning mouth as he spoke. "Now…you are just…like…me!"

This was enough to compel Cassandra to burst out of her seat angrily and repeat the words…in english…at the top of her lungs. "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUUUUUCK YOOOOU!"

The army officer, Devane, suddenly appeared at the open door to the classroom, looking puzzled. "What the _hell_ is going on in here?" He quickly walked over to the teacher desk, seeing the cocaine lines on it. He sighed out in irritation. "Oh, for chrissake…"

Cassandra breathed heavily, fixing an angry gaze at Devane as she switched to her natural english. "Get out. I'm in charge. Not you. PISS OFF!"

Devane's arms crossed in front of him as he challenged her. "There's nothing in the BR-USA guidelines that say anything about teachers indulging in the use of recreational drugs of any kind during the program. I'm surprised Captain Curahee even let you keep using that shit to begin with!"

Cassandra's expression looked like she was about to explode into another angry retort…but she burst out laughing instead. "Thank my doctor for that. He prescribed it to me. Pain relief." She practically slurred her words. "Up-ppeeeeerrr…rrresssspa-torryyyyyyy…something-something-something."

Devane shook his head over the pathetic display. "You're in no shape to continue. I'm taking command. You are _relieved,_ Miss Emerson."

"Wait! Wait!" She hurried over to the teacher's desk and pulled open a drawer as she spoke. "I'll show you the prescription!"

But Devane could not react in time to prevent the gun Cassandra pulled from the drawer from blasting a hole right into his temple. Staggering back, the army officer dropped to the floor. His blood began to leak from the hole as he went limp.

Cassandra kept the smoking gun aimed at the dead officer even as he continued to bleed.

Stepping over him, Ricky…who was logically nothing more than a figment of the woman's imagination, as the real Riki Takeuchi died along with the BRII program on a japanese island in 2003…gazed down with a look of surprise on his face, and then turned his shocked gaze to Cassandra.

"Nice shot!" He amusedly exclaimed. "You're fucked, but…nice shot!"

* * *

Sergeant Randy Tucker had been ordered, prior to the Captain's death, to keep an eye on the secure com channel that was their only connection to the outside world. If any outside communications were to be received, Tucker would be the first to know of it. When Cassandra Emerson had taken over, she had Tucker maintain his duties whenever he wasn't called upon to establish hourly checks on the Bivouac posts.

And since communications to the Bivouac posts were now null and void thanks to the hacking, all Tucker did was to eyeball the communications array that he had set up, being the group's communications officer.

A blinking green light would be indicative of someone actively trying to call in to the unit on the island, and it was this light that suddenly began blinking, and just when Tucker was about to fall asleep.

His senses fired up, he opened the channel and picked up the receiver. "BR Post Alpha. Identify yourself."

The prominent sound of an active helicopter could be heard behind the male voice's reply. "Post Alpha, this is BR Dragonfly. AWACS pass alerted us to bad comms on the island and home intel confirms island computer sabotage. I have a team onboard ready for quick maintenance and repair. They're ready to drop on confirm of LZ coordinates."

Tucker's eyes went wide, and a smile was now on his face. "Roger! Roger that!" As he had a map nearby, he picked a locale close to an active Bivouac post, and fed BR Dragonfly the necessary coordinates with eagerness.

"Copy." Dragonfly confirmed. "How is your manpower situation?"

"Our Captain and three-quarters of our manpower are KIA." Tucker soberly reported. "We're down to Sergeants and Privates here, and they're getting nervous. Educator Emerson assumed command authority as per BR-USA rules."

"Jesus. You've got a _civvie_ in charge of you? That's pretty fucked up." Dragonfly responded. "Right. We have a Lieutenant Haymer with the repair team. We'll have him assume command once they've made landfall. Inform Educator Emerson accordingly."

"Much appreciated, Dragonfly." Tucker answered back, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. "Post Alpha out."

Contrary to his assurance, he decided to let Haymer himself deal with Emerson once he arrived, and give her the bad news personally.

After what he heard had happened to Devane, no one wanted to voluntarily confront her at all.

But he made a mental note to forewarn Haymer in advance of his first encounter with the drug-addled educator.

* * *

Under cover of darkness, the black-clad, black-masked team rappelled down…one by one…onto the surface of the island. They found it strange that the Bivouac post did not send any men out to establish a defensive perimeter, so as they landed, they drew out their automatic weapons to do so themselves.

The final person to come down was the black beret-clad Lieutenant Haymer, who was a well-built man with a black moustache and a head of short black hair, parted to one side. He was the largest of all the men that had dropped down.

Once all seven men, Haymer included, were down and clear, the Dragonfly chopper…which was a UH-60 Blackhawk…pulled away from the LZ. Once it was gone, one of the men hurried over to the Bivouac post on a gesture from Haymer.

The soldier's eyes widened in shock when he discovered that each and every soldier in the post were dead, their bodies viciously shot up.

As the soldier turned around to warn the others, A brief geyser of blood burst out the back of Haymer's head, and he sank to his knees and dropped forward.

"AMBUUUUUSH!" One of the other men screamed out.

Before any of the men could react, a hail of bullets began to cut into them all. They writhed and danced in place as the bullets of a machine pistol from one direction, and an assault rifle in another, mercilessly cut them all down in a vicious crossfire.

Only one of the soldiers had any spark of life left as he played dead for a long moment. The area was silent, after which he heard quietly-spoken Japanese words coming close to the massacre site.

Peeking out of the crack of his eye, the soldier…who had a bullet in his neck, and could only gargle blood…spotted the Butcher of Tokyo himself, Shuya Nanahara, holding a smoking Machine Pistol. At his side was what looked like one of the students, who also looked japanese.

In her hands was a scoped AR-15 Assault Rifle, the barrel of which was also cooling down from having discharged a burst of its ammo.

Apparently, they were checking the bodies, and even going so far as to lift whatever guns and ammo that they could.

A gargling noise from the dying soldier's mouth alerted the girl, who walked over to bear her own assault rifle down on him. She poised the barrel right over the face of the dying man in the balaclava. The defiant soldier slowly reached for his sidearm…

…and after a flash of light from the barrel of the AR-15, the pain of the soldier's multiple bullet wounds came to a quick and merciful end.

 **Girl #11 – Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"** **Now you're playing with power!"  
** **Successfully build and use the  
** **AR-15 Assault Rifle**


	13. XII: And Then There Were Eleven

**XII: And Then There Were…Eleven**

 _"_ _X equals minus B over 2A…no, B squared minus 4AC…everybody's serious, huh? Fine. I'll survive…and GET INTO A GOOD SCHOOL!"_

 _\- Kyouichi Motobuchi, "Battle Royale"_

As three UH-10 Blackhawks were within the school zone's parking lot, which was part of the area established as the only Danger Zone on the island following the hacker attack, none of the surviving soldiers had any concerns as to the possibility of the helicopters being stolen…or even blown up…by the students.

But it was the roar of these choppers being prepped for takeoff that stirred Cassandra Emerson out of her drug-induced unconsciousness.

Immediately confused, Cassandra stumbled out of the seat at the Teacher's Desk and scrambled quickly to her feet as she hurried downstairs. Looking into the monitoring room, she saw that aside from the bugged computers in the room, there was no one manning them.

Glancing out a nearby window, however, she saw the black-clad soldiers hurrying onto the Blackhawks!

The remaining soldiers were all loaded up on the choppers by the time she made it out to them with an astonished look on her face. The winds whipping around the choppers from the whirling blades above them effectively kept her back as one of the Blackhawks began to ascend.

When the first was airborne and continuing its ascent, the second one made its way off the ground. By now, Cassandra had her pistol out…

…but she saw that one of the soldiers aboard this particular Blackhawk had one of the side gun mounts trained threateningly upon her as it continued to lift into the skies.

" _You fucking chicken-shit jarheads!_ " She screamed out. " _THE GAME ISN'T OVER YET! THIS IS INSUBORDINATIOOOOON!_ "

But all three Blackhawks were in the air now, and they were rapidly pulling away from the island.

Cassandra continued to scowl angrily at the disappearing Blackhawks. She knew she could still get off the island, as they had a civilian boat docked near the school. Such was Cassandra's preferred mode of travel. She hated anything that involved traveling over the skies. Many nightmares of crashing aboard them had convinced her to either take trains, automobiles, or in this case, boats.

But she was now the only one left on the island.

Her, and ten students who were either still playing the game, or plotting another attack on the school.

As much as she was tempted to abandon the game herself and leave using the boat, she knew that would be a mistake, as the BR-USA rules had stated that the primary educator was forbidden to leave the island until the game had run its full, three-day course. Astonishingly, early desertion was quite literally punishable by death.

Her only hope was that by some stroke of dumb luck, the rest of the students turned on each other.

* * *

The sounds of the Blackhawks leaving had brought Martin Norris out of his own slumber, and he hurried outside of the Infirmary to visually confirm what he was hearing.

He had to race out beyond the tree expanses which surrounded the Infirmary, however, so he ran out for a fair distance before he was able to see the Blackhawks pulling out, and away from the island.

A troubling look was now on his face as the sounds of the helicopters began to fade. Was the game over so soon?

* * *

"There he is!" A grinning Lorenzo Trujillo pointed towards where he had spotted Martin Norris. He immediately pulled out his Combat Machete. He then looked to Gloria Angel, who was standing near him, similarly gazing at Norris, whose back was turned away from them. "Remember the plan! You know what to do!"

"Go in quietly." was Gloria's only advice before she waited, keeping her gun out as she watched Lorenzo slow his steps and begin his progress towards Martin.

It was perfect. He had a bladed weapon. A machete. He could sneak up and lop the unsuspecting bastard's head clean off. He just needed one good, strong swing once he was in killing range.

He had managed to convince Gloria, however, to shoot Martin in the leg to keep him from getting away. This would make it easier for Lorenzo to get the kill he had been hoping to achieve once the game was underway. He had heard the rumors of pairs of people who had voluntarily signed up for the BR programs in Japan just because they were into the thrill of the hunt. Lorenzo was certain that Martin Norris was one such psychopath beneath the 'contest winner' ruse, even though _Survivalist Weekly_ was a legitimate magazine, and a favorite of his Uncle Antonio out in Fresno.

So far, Martin did not notice him. He just needed to close in a few feet more…

…until it was a matter of climbing a small incline. Once he was in range, the signal he was supposed to give was to raise the machete up high. Gloria's gunshot was to follow.

Although he still had to deal with trudging through mud, Martin remained oblivious to what was happening behind him, and only because he was lost in thought.

Lorenzo finally came in range after a careful climb up the incline. He raised the machete high, and with great anticipation.

But the shot which rang out did not strike Martin Norris.

It blasted through the chest of Lorenzo Trujillo.

* * *

 _About six weeks before the day of the class trip, Gloria Angel ascended the staircase to head for her next class when she heard a curious bit of grunting and moaning one flight above the floor she needed to get to._

 _She kept her steps as silent as she could as she continued up the stairs. The moaning, panting, and grunting continued. It was definitely a male voice._

 _Ascending enough to take a peek at the source of the noise, she saw a crouched boy facing away from the direction Gloria was looking. Apparently, he was pumping something in front of him, at waist level._

 _His ass was bare and uncovered, and his pants were around his ankles._

 _It was clear what this ugly fornicator was doing in his perceived privacy. On the ground in front of him was an open magazine, the contents of which Gloria could not see, but which she surmised to be something pornographic and evil._

 _She saw enough of the boy, however, to recognize that this was Lorenzo Trujillo, a boy from her homeroom class._

 _As quietly as she ascended, she descended back down disgustedly, and resolved to stay away from this particular person, hoping God would strike him down someday over his audacity._

* * *

Finally, Martin spun around to look behind him, drawing his gun. A look of complete shock was on the face of Lorenzo as he, too, slowly turned to look upon Gloria…

…who already fired the second shot that went right into his head, sending him sliding down the incline. By the time he was at the bottom, Lorenzo was gone.

Martin fired wildly over at Gloria, who was able to dash away without getting hit.

Expertly holding the gun, Martin scanned the area, bringing the pistol around, and ignoring Lorenzo's dead body.

After lingering in the area for another three minutes, Martin decided to very cautiously retrace his steps back to the Infirmary.

 **Boy #18 Trujillo - dead  
** **9 to go**

* * *

Pulling her red and white-plaid skirt…which was part of the common girls school uniform…back up over her bare legs after taking a dump within a patch of thick bushes, Emma Curahee retrieved her Uzi and continued stalking forward, hoping to find the girl who had taunted her the previous rainy evening. Feeling the sun beaming down on her face made her feel considerably better compared to the relentless downpour of the previous night that she was forced to operate within.

Glancing at her map, she saw that she was coming up on the Infirmary area. Lights within the facility were on.

Checking her ammo, she began stalking towards the humble-looking building as quietly as she could. As she got closer, she could hear the sound of slow breathing, as if someone were asleep.

Ordinarily, Emma would be hesitant to try anything as dishonorable as to kill someone in their sleep, but it was Day Three. She had pretty much resolved when the program began that on Day Three, the kid gloves would come off, and no one…not even her friends…would be safe from her final day's hunt.

She was surprisingly able to make it inside without anything happening. Now it was just a matter of finding the location of those who were sleeping within.

The two she had found, openly sleeping, were a girl who apparently fell asleep in her seat with an MP5 cradled in her hands, and a boy who was fast asleep in one of the beds. Emma recognized the MP5 as the standard firearm of the soldiers assigned to the BR-USA program, which pretty much solved the mystery of who had the weapon that was stolen from them.

She was surprised to see it in the hands of the annoying pacifist she knew Annabeth Grant to be. Emma surmised that it was either luck, or even desperation, that allowed her to win such a weapon. It was difficult for the army brat of the homeroom class to believe that someone like Annabeth Grant could ever acquire such a weapon on her own. Trained combat of any kind was not in Annabeth's nature, or so Emma believed.

Emma had to admit to herself that Walter was someone she once had a crush on, but that evaporated when Annabeth began hanging out around the boy. Such was Emma's shyness back then that she never summoned up the nerve to even ask Walter out, but then, she was still the daughter of a married couple back then, and the abuse which tore them both apart had yet to begin.

 _No._ Emma told herself, fighting off her apparent hesitation. _No one can be spared. No exceptions made. They must both die. Now._

Emma turned to Annabeth, raising the gun up and placing her finger on the weapon's trigger. All it would take was one quick pull, and the burst would end Annabeth Grant's life. Anderson U.S. Grant himself would certainly appreciate such an execution, and he didn't need to know how it was done.

"Eeeeeeeem-maaaaaaa…"

The militant girl's eyes went wide upon hearing the familiar voice outside. Her head turned in that direction, frowning. Emma figured Moriah was right outside, but she saw nothing.

Turning her head back to Annabeth, she rose her gun up once again, preparing to execute…

"Eeeeeeeem-maaaaaaa's a cooooooo-ward…Eeeeeeeem-maaaaaaa's a cooooooo-ward…"

Once again, Emma's head turned in the direction of the voice, a look of anger on her face. The rest of her body followed suit as she stepped away from Annabeth and Walter, heading in the direction of the wide open entrance nearby.

Once she was outside, she immediately began stalking around the perimeter of the Infirmary for Moriah. Upon hearing the sudden rustling of branches, Emma turned in the direction of this sound, and fired a burst in that direction.

The flurry of shots crashed into the branches, but found no flesh and blood to lacerate.

"Hokahey, Curahee."

Moriah's voice, and it was behind her!

Emma did not see anyone, however. The voice was not directly behind her, but rather a few feet away from her. Heavy foliage could be seen in that direction, so it was clear she spoke the words while concealed.

"SHOW yourself, redskin!" Emma called out.

"I could have killed you last night when you passed out." Moriah's voice revealed. "I didn't."

"You expect me to be _grateful_ to you for that?" Emma mused. "Forget it. Stick your head out so I can put you out of your misery. Send you to meet those ancestors of yours."

"Not while you hold that gun." Moriah's voice answered.

Emma grinned. "Fine." She then opened up her Survival Pack, stowing her Uzi, and pulling out two weapons she had picked up the previous night: a pot lid with sharpened edges, and an icepick. "We'll do it your way. I'll kill you no matter what weapon I use. I'm running low on ammo anyway."

Silence followed, for the next couple of minutes.

"Well?" Emma called out. "Do you accept?"

The rustling of branches…and the sight of a familiar-looking girl running away…was her answer. Emma immediately took off after her, ignoring the throbbing in her own wounded leg as much as she could.

Emma was able to keep Moriah in sight as the two girls continued to run. Try as she seemed to do, the militant girl refused to let the 'redskin' shake her off, even with Emma's leg wound handicapping her speed. The army brat was now determined to make Moriah her next kill.

Eventually, Moriah stopped and turned around, watching Emma try to close the distance between them. The 'redskin' had stopped in an open area surrounded by trees.

But going between two trees, Emma felt her legs break a thin cord.

The next thing she knew, she was screaming in pain as a row of long wooden spikes suddenly impaled both of her bare legs!

It was a rudimentary spring-trap mechanism utilizing not only a row of spikes attached to a long wooden bar crafted from a fat branch, but strands of Moriah's own hair as well. A roll of thin, transparent cord Moriah kept in her personal pack also helped in constructing the spike trap. The spikes had dug deep into Emma's upper thighs, and the militant girl's blood began spilling down her legs.

Moriah stared at Emma accusingly as she continued to howl in agony over the terrible injuries the embedded spikes had inflicted. She was in far too much pain to pull them out as she fixed a gaze of burning hatred upon the native american.

"Go on, you fucking redskin." Emma growled. " _Finish me off! Scalp_ me, or do whatever it is you fucking Indians do these days!"

Moriah, however, shook her head. "After what you did to Nadia Wolinski, Natalie Cross, and Trudi Malone? You are not worth it, paleface."

In her burning anger, Emma went for her Survival Pack, dropping the weapons in her hands in favor of the Uzi. Pulling it out, she furiously emptied the rest of the weapon's final clip…

…into empty space as Moriah had once again disappeared.

Left all alone, all Emma could do for the moment was to make an effort to pull the spikes out, even if it meant enduring extreme pain in doing so. Exerting as much strength as she could muster upon the wooden bar that the row of spikes were attached to, she moaned and screamed in her agony as she began to push the spikes out of her upper legs.

After four strong and painful efforts, the bar finally dropped to the ground, freeing her legs. She nevertheless collapsed to the ground, finding it impossible to stand from the rows of gushing leg wounds.

As she began to tend to these wounds, she heard the sounds of footsteps approaching her position. Fortunately, the two weapons she had acquired…the pot lid, and the icepick…were nearby, and she reached over to grab them both. Perhaps Moriah had changed her mind, and had moved back over to engage in the one-on-one duel Emma had wanted.

Moriah, however, did not have a head of long, blond hair.

Moriah didn't have a pistol in either of her hands, either.

Emma's look of angry defiance turned to one of horror as Gloria Angel stared down at the badly wounded army brat. The blonde looked sympathetic as she raised her gun up.

"Wait…wait…Gloria, _please_ wait…" Emma raised her hands fearfully up, her eyes boggling in terror. "…not like this… _plleeeeaaaaase!_ "

"Shhhhh. No more tears, sweet Emma." Gloria flashed a reassuring grin, aiming the gun at Emma's head. "God will forgive you. I promise!"

"GLORIAAAAA!" Emma screamed out, trying to hold back the tears that were already streaming. "Please...let's...let's finish off the oth..."

The shot punched into the head of Emma Curahee, freezing her terrified expression as her upper body fell backwards, her now silent mouth still agape as her life faded.

After stowing her gun away, Gloria traced the sign of the cross in the air towards the now dead body of the daughter of Captain George T. Curahee, and then stepped away from the militant girl's corpse.

 **Girl #4 Curahee - dead  
** **8 to go**

* * *

Gloria got the distinct impression that she was being followed as she came into visual distance of the Infirmary, her smoking gun still in her right hand. There were still a few rounds left in the clip before she needed to reload.

A part of her was initially regretful of the need to execute Emma Curahee, but as she had heard that her father had been killed, she figured he would be thankful to be rejoined with the relinquished spirit of her daughter. She was convinced that Emma's soul was grateful for what the pious blond servant of God had done.

"Glooooo-ri-aaaaaaa…." She heard Moriah's voice eerily taunt. It sounded like the voice was a short distance away, perhaps a couple of feet from her position.

Immediately tumbling away, Gloria quickly grabbed the Flash-Bang grenade she had taken from Ron Jorgensen. After activating it, she threw the weapon out in the direction of where she heard Moriah's voice, and then ducked, averting herself from the 'flash' that was to follow.

When the grenade discharged, emitting a blinding flash and a loud noise, she expected to hear Moriah make a noise. A free hand drew her pistol as she remained on the ground.

But silence followed in the wake of the detonation.

Gloria carefully rose from the ground, holding her gun out protectively, and taking slow and careful steps

In the next moment, a figure exploded from a set of bushes Gloria passed in her approach to the Infirmary, and the blond girl ducked to allow the blade of a Hand Axe to cut through the air above her.

Gloria quickly stowed her gun and then drew her own decorated Hunting Knife as Moriah turned to face off with her. Not a word was spoken as they kept their eyes locked on each other, keeping a tight grip on their respective weapons.

Gloria was the first to lunge. Moriah side-stepped the blow as Gloria whipped her blade around behind her in a half-crescent arc, cutting air as the two girls jockeyed for their next positions.

Moriah's eyes remained on Gloria's, ready to respond to whatever actions the blond girl was prepared to attempt. A quick stab attempt was dodged, and a second, more vicious stab was underhooked by the Hand Axe, trapping it for a moment until Gloria managed to free it.

But Moriah was close enough to spin around and swipe at Gloria's head, slicing a noticeable horizontal cut into the girl's forehead, which achieved a red color to make it stand out. Feeling the minor sting, Gloria furiously began to swipe the knife in front of her, grunting like an animal as she did so.

Yet another spinning swipe from Moriah carved another horizontal cut into her forehead, effectively creating a red 'X' there. Roaring in her rage, Gloria charged at Moriah, leaping upon her as they began wrestling on the ground.

Their respective strengths, however, were matched in the angry clinch. Moriah's only option was to get her off before she got nasty with her blade. Fortunately, she was able to get a leg beneath her chest, and with all the strength she could muster, she was able to shove Gloria off of her.

The blond girl staggered back, momentarily disoriented…

…but as Moriah got back to her feet, she felt the pain of a gunshot at her right shoulder following a loud bang that emitted where Gloria had staggered back. Moriah stared in disbelief at the bullet wound as the beautiful blonde kept the gun aimed at the native american student.

Gloria, however, suddenly felt a sharp and terrible pain at her back! Someone had suddenly stabbed her!

She was then shoved to the ground by her assailant after the blade that was in her back was pulled out. Upon hitting the ground, the gun in her hand tumbled away from her. Gloria stared up at Martin Norris in disbelief as he stood over her with a solid gold butcher knife in one hand that was now covered in her blood.

Gloria coughed a bit as she attempted an innocent expression. Tears filled her eyes as she spoke. "How…how could you? I'm a servant of God! I'm an _angel!_ "

"So?" Martin dropped to a knee, still hovering over her as Annabeth Grant and Walter Abilene hurried out of the Infirmary to bear witness to what was happening outside. "I'm the devil! I guess you're fucked, bitch!"

Raising his blade, the knife dropped down, furiously, upon Gloria Angel's body again and again. The young sweepstakes winner set upon the blonde like a man quite literally possessed by a murderous and merciless spirit of death as the knife continued to plunge into and out of the shocked blond servant of God until she was a bloody, lifeless mess on the ground.

 **Boy #7(226) Norris – Achievement Unlocked!  
** **"** **Blood Money"  
** **Kill a student with the  
** **solid gold Butcher Knife**

 **Girl #1 Angel - dead  
** **7 to go**

"Whoa!" Martin exclaimed as he rose back to his feet, turning his grinning head to Walter and Annabeth. "What a rush."

Annabeth didn't look amused as he stared back at Martin. "I don't know whether to thank you, or keep the fuck away from you."

"He did what needed to be done, Annie-beth." Moriah winced at the pain from the gunshot wound at her shoulder. "Gloria would have killed us all. As far as I'm concerned, we owe him our lives."

Martin nodded, reaching behind him. "Yup, you sure do."

Producing his own pistol, Martin fired three shots at Moriah Houk's chest, and then quickly aimed the gun over towards Annabeth and Walter.

Expressions of complete shock were on the faces of both students as they stared back at Martin Norris. "What the fuck are you…?" Walter exclaimed in his disbelief.

Behind them, Moriah was clutching at her bleeding chest. The shots were definitely fatal, and she was grimacing in agony.

"Hey…the game ain't over, kiddies." Martin impishly replied. "I'm just playing to win here…or more accurately, to complete my mission!"

Annabeth frowned in her sudden confusion. " _Mission?_ "

"Mm-hmm!" Martin nodded, smiling as he kept the gun on them. "Oh, I got a real kick out of the fun and games for the past couple of days…especially with you two dumb fucks buying into my sweepstakes bullshit…but I never lost sight of the prize! You're such a spirited girl, Annabeth. Real rebellious, just like your father said…but I sure as hell can't wait to collect the bounty he put on your head."

"Jesus Christ…" Walter could hardly believe it, especially given Martin's youthful, boyish looks. He hardly fit the profile of the kind of person he was revealing himself to be. "…you're a fucking _mercenary?_ "

"You could say that!" Martin gingerly replied. "Just like dear ol' dad, the 'solid gold killer'. I could feel him smiling down on me when I hamstringed that black kid's legs on day one. Didn't even need to kill him! I knew he couldn't get out of that Danger Zone in time. Poor bastard…" Martin pointed the gun at Annabeth now. "…wish I could have done that to you, but a bullet in the head is just as good. You're dead either way. Both of you."

Glancing behind Martin, however, Annabeth noticed that Moriah was gone!

Smiling, Martin pulled the hammer back on the pistol as he spoke, keeping the weapon pointed at Annabeth. "You first, sweetie. Payday for me, game over for you."

The thrown icepick dug deep into Martin's gun-hand, forcing him to drop the weapon. He suddenly dove to the side as Annabeth's MP5 came to life, firing a retaliatory burst which effectively emptied the clip.

As she had left her Survival Pack back at the Infirmary, she was now stuck with an empty MP5! Walter was also unarmed, as his Pack…which contained Issac's pistol…was right beside Annabeth's.

Stepping in front of the two students, however, was Shuya Nanahara. In one hand was the sharpened pot lid.

Martin winced as he pulled out the thrown icepick. He could not immediately locate the gun, so he pulled out his Butcher Knife once again and rose to his feet, holding the knife with his only good hand.

He then lunged at Shuya, who sidestepped and sliced out an arc with the pot lid that cut deeply into Martin's back.

"Errrg…you fuckin' _jap!_ " the american turned to Shuya with a hateful grimace. "I'll probably get a _bonus_ for doin' _your_ miserable ass!"

Once again, Martin charged.

Once again, Shuya sidestepped and slashed. Once again, the pot lid cut through flesh, this time inflicting a horizontal gash across his chest. Screaming with rage, Martin charged once again, this time grabbing the Japanese freedom fighter as Violet Noda hurried over to stand protectively in front of Annabeth and Walter, brandishing the AR-15 she had built.

"Hooookaaaaa _HEEEEEEEYYYY!_ "

The furious swipe of Moriah Houk's Hand Axe buried very deep into Martin's neck in her attempt to behead the sneaky american mercenary. While the axe blade was dug in deep enough to cut through enough of his neck, the head still remained on his body.

Seeing this, Shuya grabbed the young man's head and quite literally tore it off of his neck in one angry pull, tossing it to the side as Martin's body dropped lifelessly to the ground.

 **Boy #7(226) Norris - dead  
** **6 to go**

Shuya, Violet, Annabeth, and Walter immediately went over to Moriah as she dropped back down to the ground, her chest still bleeding from the bullet wounds. She looked deathly pale and sweaty at this point.

Wheezing, she looked up to Walter, smiling. "Should have… _*koff*_ …brought your gun, dummy."

"No, no, no, this is _bullshit._ " Walter lamented through her tears. "If anyone should have won this thing, it should have been…"

Moriah was quick to shake her head. "No…I never…never gave a fuck about w-winning…all I ever wanted t…to do…was t' keep you both safe. Martin really…had me fooled…sonofabitch…"

"You _got_ him, Moe. Don't feel so ashamed!" Annabeth assured, even as tears were flowing from her eyes. "You _got_ that motherfuckin' paleface!"

Moriah flashed a bloody grin, feeling her body weaken. "Hhhho…ho-kaheeeyyy…A-Annie-beth…"

When Moriah passed, her face had a peaceful and serene expression on it, as if she had passed without a regret in the world. Annabeth broke down in sobs at this point, as did Walter, as Violet and Shuya mournfully watched.

"She was a very good fighter." Shuya quietly observed, in japanese. "She should not have had to sacrifice herself."

Wiping a tear from her eye, Violet shook her head in agreement. "Not at all." Her response was similarly in japanese.

 **Girl #6 Houk - dead  
** **5 to go**

As Annabeth and Walter continued to mourn the passing of their native american friend, Violet and Shuya noticed someone else approaching the area, stepping away from the Infirmary. Someone Moriah had brought in to recover from last night's rainstorm the previous night.

Krystal Riley had a strange expression on her face as she sighted Shuya Nanahara, and began walking over to him. A slight smile was on her lips.

Violet didn't like this expression at all. She stepped in front of Shuya warily, tightening her grip on the Assault Rifle. Krystal then stopped, looking a bit hurt.

Violet raised the rifle cautiously, pointing it at the unnatural blonde. "Krystal…?"

Krystal raised her hands, and stepped in closer to Violet as if to indicate harmlessness.

In the next moment, a poison-tainted needle fired forth from the small straw hiding in Krystal's mouth, striking Violet right in her eye. In that same moment, Violet squeezed the trigger of her weapon, which savagely perforated Krystal's chest, collapsing her to the ground.

The poison acted quickly as a shocked Shuya grabbed the convulsing body of Satomi Noda's only surviving sister. In the next minute, the poison inflicted a fatal heart attack, just as it did with Mickey Palladino.

Her body then went limp as Shuya fruitlessly tried to shake her back to life.

Angrily squinting his eyes shut, he screamed out his rage to the skies as the tears began to flow forth from the freedom fighter's eyes. Still holding on to Violet's lifeless body, he tightly embraced her as his mind reminded him of what his bespectacled sister looked like.

This only served to deepen his sorrows as he continued to clutch the body of the girl who initially wanted him dead.

 **Girl #11 Noda – dead  
** **Girl #14 Riley - dead  
** **3 to go**

* * *

Having snorted up the last of her cocaine…despite having a bloody nose…in the wake of the desertion of the soldiers, a very sweaty Cassandra Emerson's wide, bloodshot eyes stared down upon the 8 ½ x 11" black & white picture of Noriko Nakagawa that she had extracted from the file folder.

The photograph was apparently a school photo, meant for a yearbook. Cassandra wondered what she looked like wearing one of the explosive collars.

"Cassandura…"

The voice sounded japanese. A raw pronounciation of her name. It was a feminine whisper.

It was coming from the open door of the second floor classroom. She rose up, her body quaking from the chill of her own sweat. Her heart uncontrollably raced.

"Cassandura-chan…"

The voice seemed to guide her down the stairs, gently and continually calling her forward until she was outside of the school.

Before her shocked eyes was an ugly mass of bodies, in various states of mutilation and murder. Each of the faces of the students corresponded to someone in the chosen homeroom class. The class she used to preside over until she was forced out. Among the bodies were those of Walter Abilene and Annabeth Grant. Apparently, Annabeth had riddled Walter with bullets, while Annabeth had a long sword skewered through her.

Moriah, Issac, Emma, Martin Norris, Gloria Angel…they were all there, and they were all dead. Only Shuya Nanahara seemed to be missing from the vivid mass of bloody human remains.

A single young japanese girl stood in the middle of this apparent massacre, wearing a tan-colored japanese middle school uniform. A familiar-looking metal collar was around her neck. The short-haired girl's head seemed to glow in an angelic manner as she gazed at Cassandra with an expression of sorrow.

It was Noriko Nakagawa.

Beneath Cassandra's feet, the steps her feet were on now resembled a mass of skulls when she stared down upon it. The sight was enough to cause her to stumble down the stone steps of the school, and down onto the ground. The educator's heart was beating very rapidly now as she began to convulse.

Noriko calmly lowered to a knee next to her, and placed a finger to her lips. She spoke softly, and in japanese, revealing herself to be the one who had called her outside.

"Shhhhh." She began. "Let me take you home."

As Cassandra's eyes boggled from the onset of the fatal heart attack, she spasmed once, and then breathed out a long, final breath as the image of Noriko Nakagawa slowly disappeared, along with the phantoms of the massacre she had thought was genuine.

The last breath of life Cassandra Emerson had taken also faded, leaving the wide-eyed corpse of the educator lying on the steps of the school, a victim of her own medicinal 'candy'.


	14. XIII: Game Over

**XIII: Game Over**

 _"_ _We do have a future…as long as we can dream of it."_

 _\- Shuya Nanahara, "Battle Royale II: Requiem"_

 **8:00 A.M.**

As the final three participants of the first american Battle Royale swore to refrain from killing each other, they chose to collect mementoes from those who had died that they called friends. From Moriah Houk, they acquired the feathers she had adorned herself and her weapon with. Walter had acquired the _kippah_ Issac Meyer always wore on his head, which was decorated with science equations. Annabeth extracted the gold flower hairpiece Valerie Chung always wore in her long hair. As LaShawn Hughes had died inside the school, it was not possible to acquire a memento from him.

Shuya offered the AR-15 Assault Rifle that Violet had built to remember her by, but Walter raised his hands in restraint, puzzling the freedom fighter.

"I think she'd want you to have that." Walter explained. He instead pulled the class ring from Violet's finger. Walter also insisted that Shuya become the bearer of the solid gold butcher knife 'so he could finance his revolution'.

They had agreed to spend a few minutes by the seaside when they were done, if only to figure out what they were going to do next now that they were the only ones left on the island. They all wondered what had happened to Cassandra Emerson, and all of the soldiers.

A quick trip to the vicinity of the school grounds to find out what had happened revealed that since the game was still active, they confirmed that their beeping collars would not permit them to come very close to the school.

But they did spot the sweat-soaked corpse of Cassandra Emerson on the steps, staring up at the sky with an expression of horror and disbelief.

Walter shared his observations in japanese as they gazed over at Emerson's corpse from afar. "I wonder what happened?"

"She is gone." Shuya replied. "That's all that matters."

The trio then began wandering over to the closest shore. All three of them were quiet, and Walter's limp was not as evident as he moved. This, however, was the benefit of the painkillers he had taken once the battles outside of the Infirmary were over.

"I say we just let the collars beep and detonate once the last hour's up." Walter remarked, in english, as he turned his head to Annabeth. "I'm not shooting or killing anyone else today."

Annabeth nodded. "Me neither."

He repeated his statement in japanese to Shuya, who nodded in agreement. "I…I would rather die with friends. Friends…like the two of you." The freedom fighter thoughtfully added.

As Shuya's eyes scanned the churning waters in front of them, however, he spotted an incoming boat which looked all too similar to the gunboats that patrolled the island. One of these boats had nearly shot him up. Three soldiers, clad in black outfits and wearing balaclavas of their own, were on board, and each of them carried automatic weapons as they closed in.

When Walter and Annabeth spotted them, Walter extracted the Magnum pistol from his Survival Pack, and Annabeth grabbed the MP5 that was strapped across her torso. Naturally, Shuya held up Violet's AR-15 defensively.

But the masked man at the black boat's gun mount stepped away from it and raised his hands in restraint. To Shuya's astonishment, this man spoke japanese!

"Hey! Shuya!" He called out. "Don't shoot! We're friendlies!"

The man then pulled off his mask…and revealed the face of a man he thought had been executed by american soldiers.

It was Takuma Aoi!

The other two soldiers aboard the boat also took their masks off. The younger one next to Takuma was Jin, the young boy to whom Shuya had entrusted his AK-47, which was strapped to his back.

The third man wasn't a man at all, but rather his fellow fugitive, and the second survivor of the Shiroiwa Battle Royale. A young woman Shuya had sworn to protect for the sake of his old friend, Kuninobu.

Noriko Nakagawa smiled when her eyes found Shuya's.

Also on the boat was a strange-looking black suitcase, which Jin was quick to open up once the boat had settled upon the shore. Walter and Annabeth remained where they stood as Shuya stepped over to warmly embrace his comrades.

It felt good for the wanted fugitives to smile in that moment.

Noriko was the first to step over to the two americans, offering a slight bow in greeting.

"They speak our language." Shuya reminded her.

" _Konban wa._ " Walter began, keeping his words japanese. "My name is Walter Abilene. This girl is my friend, Annabeth Grant."

Noriko smiled. "Please accept my deepest sympathies for the loss of any friends you may have had here."

Annabeth nodded, responding with one of the few japanese words she knew. " _Arigato gozaimasu._ "

Takuma's face was neutral as he stepped over to shake the hands of Shuya's two new friends as Jin motioned for the Wild Seven leader to join him. Picking up a pair of tools, Shuya settled into the boat as Jin began working on the collar he was wearing.

As Walter and Annabeth watched, Takuma placed a hand on Walter's shoulder. "Don't worry." He assured. "You and your friend are next."

As the collars were based on the ones worn by the participants of the Shiroiwa Battle Royale, Jin was able to bypass the signal receiver without detonating the explosive within. Within five minutes, Shuya finally felt the steel coil come off of his neck.

The freedom fighter then motioned for Annabeth Grant to step into the boat, where Jin repeated the procedure as Shuya stepped over to Walter.

"You should join us, you know." Shuya advised. "If they find out that more than one person survived this program, they'll make criminals out of the both of you."

Walter nodded. "Maybe we'll use that boat we found near the school. We'll follow you to…well, wherever you're going, seeing as how Annabeth knows how to drive boats."

Once Annabeth's collar was finally off, Walter was brought over next. Takuma pulled Shuya aside.

"Can we trust these americans?" Takuma warily asked.

Shuya nodded. "I think they have proven themselves to be trustable. Besides…Annabeth is the daughter of their President. She does not agree with what he has put her and her friends through."

Takuma nodded as Walter felt the cold steel collar leave his neck at long last.

Noriko, who was near the crippled american, gently placed a hand on Walter's shoulder, smiling. "Feels good to be free again, yes?"

Walter smiled back. "Sure does."

Shuya gestured to the boat. "How were you able to get all of this?"

"We…made new friends. Americans." Takuma answered. "They're the reason I'm still alive. They want to fight their President. They also promised to help us stop the BR act in Japan if we can help them."

Shuya nodded. "I'll want to talk with their leader."

"That can be arranged." Takuma responded. "He doesn't know any japanese, but he does have a cute Asian to translate your words."

Shuya and Noriko stepped over to Walter as he turned to thoughtfully gaze upon the island.

"I wish I could bring them back." Walter lamented, keeping his words japanese. "Moe, Violet, Valerie, Issac, Ron…none of them deserved to die. Not like this."

"There were people who died in those bombings that I wish I could bring back." Shuya replied. "I wouldn't have blamed Violet if she chose to kill me."

"We need to make the best of what we have," Noriko reasoned. "and go from there."

A slight smile was on Shuya's lips now as he turned his head to Noriko. "Listen to you. You sound like an adult now."

"We need to embrace that, Shuya." Noriko responded. "Whether we like it or not."

After taking a deep breath, Walter turned his head to Annabeth, speaking English. "I'm ready to get off of this rock."

Annabeth smiled. "Me too."

"We'll try not to go out too far so you can follow us." Shuya explained to Walter as he took off the jacket he had been wearing and tossed it upon the shore. Takuma returned to his spot at the gun mount while Jin returned to the boat's engine. He then extended a hand to the crippled american, who grabbed it with his own hand and squeezed it.

Shuya's other hand settled on Walter's shoulder. The memory of Shogo Kawada…the BR survivor who had helped Shuya and Noriko escape their program…was on his mind.

"I'm glad I found true friends." Shuya remarked.

Walter nodded. "Me too."

As Noriko was in earshot of this moment, she was certain Shuya was thinking of Shogo as well.

"Let's get underway!" Takuma called out, effectively separating Shuya and Walter. The Wild Seven leader and his girlfriend stepped aboard the gunboat, which roared to life and began to leave the shore.

Annabeth and Walter hastened their approach to the boat they had found by the school. She helped Walter get on board and settled him into a seat while Annabeth went to check on the boat's engine and make sure everything was in working order.

Heading over to the engine area, she expected to find nothing wrong with it, although it was entirely possible that they could have removed or even sabotaged the engine to prevent any chance of students using it to escape the island prematurely.

What Annabeth found upon discovering the engine, however, was a mound of gray clay with several sticks embedded in it. Upon this mound was carved a smiling face.

Annabeth frowned in her confusion, and turned around, wondering if anyone was nearby.

"Everything OK back there?" Walter called out.

And that was when Annabeth saw the collared young woman staring back at her from a short distance away, smiling sweetly. Beneath one arm was a familiar-looking plush toy doll.

In her other hand was a black object, which she brought up and pointed towards the boat.

As Annabeth's eyes widened in her horror, the girl pressed the button on the remote detonator. A flash of light, and a huge explosion, followed.

Although the force of the blast sent her back a bit, she remained unharmed.

Walter Abilene and Annabeth Grant, however, were consumed by the blast which completely destroyed the boat.

 **Boy #1 Abilene – dead  
** **Girl #5 Grant – dead**

 **Boy #15 Nanahara - **VOID****

 **GAME OVER**

 **DAY THREE – 10:00 A.M.**

 **The Winner – Girl #13 Pulaski**

* * *

Everyone aboard the black gunboat stared at the explosion at the island's shore in horror. They knew it came from the boat Walter and Annabeth chose to use.

Takuma looked furious. "A fucking bomb….?"

Shuya squeezed his eyes shut in his disbelief, slamming a fist down upon the surface of the boat. "No…not them… _damn it!_ "

Jin mournfully looked to Shuya. "What do we do?"

Shuya looked to Jin first, and then to Noriko.

"We can't go back." Noriko advised. "They're sending people over as we speak to get their winner. We'll have no time for revenge!" She placed a hand on Shuya's shoulder. "You have to let this go, Shuya. I'm sorry."

A tear went down Shuya's eye as his gaze returned to the island. He was deep in thought as to what his response should be.

"Shuya?" Jin remarked. "Should we go back?"

As his gaze lingered, he began to hear the sounds of Blackhawk helicopters drawing near. That's when he knew it was too late to find the killer of his two american friends.

"Let's get out of here." Shuya finally replied.

Gunboats were also speeding towards the island as the entourage from the mainland approached it. By the time they had all arrived, the gunboat carrying Shuya Nanahara and his terrorist friends were long gone, once again wanted fugitives.

But they at least had new allies…potentially resourceful ones…among the americans.

Shuya wished, however, that Walter Abilene and Annabeth Grant could have been among them.


	15. EPILOGUE

**EPILOGUE**

 _"No matter how far, run for all you're worth. RUN!"_

 _\- Shuya Nanahara, "Battle Royale"_

The island had quickly become a flurry of activity, with crowds of american soldiers and a large group of TV news reporters from various countries coming ashore to give exclusive, on-the-spot reports regarding the controversy surrounding the missing Middle School class. The sounds of Blackhawk choppers in the air served as a constant as the reporters tried to speak over the cacophony of noise. Soldiers were everywhere trying to keep order, and body bags were in the process of being collected. One row, guarded by soldiers, represented the BR-assigned military men…Captain Curahee among them…who had lost their lives during the game. The other row of bags were indicative of the murdered students.

From the perspective of the american public, it was a matter of dealing with the repeated denials of the Grant Administration regarding the implementation of the BR program in America. As the BR act was being tested with the homeroom class which Anderson U.S. Grant's estranged daughter was conveniently a part of(hence the class being personally picked by Grant, rather than leave it to random selection as per the BR rules), Congress had agreed that if the BR-USA program did not produce a single winner, then they would repeal the act.

American politics, however, were about to change. And not for the better.

What the Grant Administration was not aware of, however, was that another blow had been struck by the talented hacker working for the anti-BR faction that had saved Takuma Aoi's life. Once again breaking into the system prior to the demise of Walter Abilene and Annabeth Grant, Shuya's place in the american program had been voided.

Aki Mimura, however, was regretful when she had heard that the american hacker she had convinced to help her…Jason Malone…was compromised, and killed.

A female american among the reporters held a mike to her lips as she spoke into the camera being held by the large man in front of her. As with the others, she tried to speak above all the noise. "This island is a veritable flurry of activity here, and one can pick up on a distinct feeling of dread as we came upon the island. Soldiers here are in the process of collecting the casualties of what can only be described as a violent battle which we're told lasted over a period of three days, this information being suspiciously similar to events occurring in Japan with the passing of the infamous 'BR act', which the Grant Administration has repeatedly denied was implemented in the United States. It's clear, however, that this was a class full of american students. I…wish I had better news to report as we have been told that there is…there is only one survivor out of a class full of over 40 students, who were brought here under circumstances which few within political circles will openly admit to, but which is nevertheless apparent to political insiders and opponents of the Grant Administration."

The flurry of reporter voices now began to rise in their level of interest as a jeep began to drive towards the reporters, all of whom were being held back by a line of well-built, well-armed, and camo-clad soldiers.

"And…and it looks like…yes, we can see the survivor now. She's being driven towards us in a military vehicle…" The reporter revealed, her eyes now identifying the nature of the nervous-looking occupant sitting in the back of the jeep, clutching a plush toy doll as all eyes locked on her. "…it's a girl! Yes! A young girl from a missing middle school homeroom class of over 40 students is being brought towards us! We can't make out exactly who it is, but…wait a minute. She…she's…she's _smiling?_ " Puzzled, she looked to one of the other reporters. "Why in the world is she smiling? That girl looks like she's been through hell! _Why is she smiling?_ "

Seeing all the television cameras trained upon her as she was brought over, she let out a shy giggle. She was clearly happy that the three-day ordeal was over. She was happy to have survived the american Battle Royale alongside her plush toy doll.

She was happy to have earned the right to go home, safe and sound.

* * *

 **The next morning…**

All was quiet on the island. Later that same day, the people who naturally inhabited it would return, and re-populate the residences there. The Grant Administration assured that the remains of the Workshop would be rebuilt, and clean-up teams had already gone over the island to acquire what little remained of the game. Spent bullet cartridges were swept up, blood and human remains were cleansed, and empty plastic bottles of water…along with scraps of food…were collected.

There was one item that was apparently left behind, and the crews were at a loss as to what to do with it. Given its benign and innocent nature, they didn't have the heart to just dispose of it. Eventually, they figured that a lucky child going to school on the island would find it, and make it his or her own.

This particular item sat idle within the second floor classroom Cassandra had used as her private quarters, occupying a seat among those which students going there would occupy once the school season resumed. Until then, the item would continue to sit there, idle, accompanied only by the silence of the room.

The plush toy doll…a teddy bear…wore a green Sergeant's uniform, and had its arms spread out to the sides, as if inviting a hug. Only a Middle School student named Emma Curahee…the doll's previous owner…and her father, Captain George Curahee, knew that this particular plush bear had a name.

It was Sergeant Brock.

* * *

 **Aaaaand that's it, folks! The BR-USA story is done!**

 **Once again, my heartfelt thanks to the ladies of Maid 4U Cafe' for all their help and support.**

 **Feel free to review and/or comment, so long as it isn't flaming!**

 **Happy Holidays 2018, everyone!**

 **\- WTalespinner**


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